summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, angst, 18+ smut, fluff
word count: 7.6k
a/n: thank you for waiting so patiently!! i hope you enjoy! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas already<33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist
The Pitt | Masterlist
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The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland takes just over two hours. Two hours trapped in a car with Jack in awkward silence. The radio had murmured softly in the background, but the tension between you was almost palpable, thick enough to cut.
Neither of you talked. Neither of you hummed along when a good song came on. You both just stayed silent—your body angled toward the passenger window, where you were still able to catch glimpses of Jack's fingers tightening periodically around the steering wheel.
The only words he managed to squeeze out during the entire ride were when you bent back to grab your bag from the backseat.
"Don't."
You'd frozen mid-motion.
"Sit up straight—you're gonna hurt yourself." His eyes had flickered to yours in the rearview mirror briefly, and you'd been so flustered that you hadn't even argued that your ribs barely hurt anymore. And when he'd stopped at the next red light and reached back for it himself, you'd only muttered a soft "thanks".
That marked the extent of your exchanges—practical concerns that felt so distant they barely registered.
But you're fine now—mostly. Enough to have moved back to your own room after Robby dropped this on you. Enough that you’ve decided it’s time to set Jack free. After this conference wraps up, you plan to present him with the divorce papers sitting neatly on your desk, just waiting for his signature.
One pen stroke and then he'd be free. Free to stop pretending. Free from this cage you've trapped him in.
The parking lot is already bustling with people when you pull in. Jack is out of the car before you can get your seatbelt off, popping open the trunk and grabbing both of your bags with ease.
"I can carry—" you start to say.
"I've got it," he cuts in, already walking toward the entrance.
You press your lips together, then follow him.
The conference is held at a hotel, the kind with huge glass doors, marble floors and chandeliers swinging above. Just another reminder of how the administration pours money into superficial perks rather than addressing the hospitals' actual needs.
Jack jerks his head toward a cosy seating area near the entrance, where plush couches surround coffee tables stacked with books. "Sit."
You don’t get the chance to protest or even offer to take the bags before he strides off to reception, both bags shifted comfortably into one hand. You can’t help but admire the flex of his forearm before shaking yourself back to reality.
With a quiet sigh, you sink into one of the cushions. You'd expected this weekend to hurt, but seeing just how annoyed he is that he has to be here with you hurts worse than you thought. Flicking through one of the coffee table books, you try to distract yourself while Olivia’s words echo in your mind: You’re reading this all wrong. I promise, just tell him how you feel.
Promises feel meaningless when faced with cold, hard facts.
"Let's go." Jack stops in front of you, watchful as you rise. You try to hide the slight wince when you do, but judging by the way his brows furrow, he notices. His hand reaches out, but he draws it back immediately.
He trails behind you to the elevators, and you step in with a few other people. He pushes the button for your floor, and then the silence continues. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of his tensed shoulders and the rigidity in his jaw.
It's the longest elevator ride of your life.
Jack sets off the second the doors open, leading you to a door where he swipes the key card hard. He steps inside, placing it in the power slot and the light flickers on.
You linger hesitantly by the door, confused as to why he hasn’t handed you your bag or the key card. "Is this mine or yours?" you ask.
Jack sighs, his back turned to you. "It's...ours."
"Oh." You're glad he isn't looking at you, or he would have seen your face fall. Yet another way you've made this weekend hell for him.
Robby had said to just show up to the reception and tell them your names—that the hospital had taken care of it—but something must have gone wrong. You know better than anyone how their systems can't be trusted.
Jack exhales sharply, dropping your bags onto the desk before turning to face you. "We're still married in the system, so they must've auto-booked us together," he explains, his voice tight.
"Oh." That’s all you manage to say again as you step fully into the room, closing the door behind you and taking in the surroundings: a desk, a closet, a bathroom, and a single bed. Great.
"I tried changing it," he says quickly, "but they're fully booked."
You nod, trying not to show him just how much that hurts to hear. Of course, he tried to change it. Of course, he doesn’t want to share a room with you.
Two more days and he's free.
Your gaze drifts helplessly back to the bed.
"I can sleep on the floor," he offers, clearing his throat.
"What?"
He shrugs stiffly.
"You don’t have to sleep on the floor." You frown. Were another few nights really that horrible that he'd prefer sleeping there? You bite your lip, stepping into the bathroom pretending to inspect it, but mostly to not see his face as you say, "It's fine. What's two more nights?"
Jack's silent for a moment, and you almost don't hear his "okay" over the sound of your heart cracking.
The first day at the conference passes by faster than Jack expects. A good thing, even if it does feel slightly bittersweet. Time alone with you is all he's wanted for months, but now that he has it, he doesn't know what to do with it.
Not when you've made it clear this past week that you want nothing to do with him. You've moved back to your own bed, and the hospital had forced you right back into sharing again—just like it had forced you into this whole thing in the first place.
Jack knows the end is near, and he's trying to give you space. But he can't help being pulled in by you—watching as you listen carefully to demonstrations, his hands hovering near you to keep the crowd from jostling your ribs.
Normally, he’s not a fan of this part of the conferences: the chaos, the noise, the sales reps tripping over each other to pitch their latest gadgets.
Today, he leans into it. He lets himself get trapped in twenty-minute demonstrations he doesn't care about. He asks unnecessary questions, picks up brochures he knows he won’t read, and lingers at displays his hospital would never consider—anything to keep his mind occupied and avoid fixating on you. Your sweet perfume still wraps around him, your accidental brushes against him still make his skin flush, and his heart still races whenever you glance his way.
And despite this distance between you, you're still looking out for him. You still notice how he subtly shifts to put more weight on his good leg, and even when he'd told you he was fine, intending to soldier on, it had only taken a stern glare from you for him to relent.
The foolish part of his heart can't help but hope that it means something more—that the way you look at him means more than it probably does. He's probably just seeing the reflection of his own hurt in your eyes because he knows you've been searching for a way out—bringing up getting a divorce, looking at apartments and distancing yourself again.
The way you'd reacted when he told you that you had to share a bed again only solidified it. So, even if it's the last thing he wants to do, he does his best to keep his distance like you want him to.
By dinner, though, the distance is harder to maintain when walking into the stupid hotel restaurant feels dangerously close to a date. The lighting is low and warm, reflections dancing off polished glasses as the waiter leads you to a four-person table.
He's trying not to stare at you or the lipstick you'd put on before leaving, but he's failing. His gaze keeps drifting to the soft curve of your cupid's bow and the way you nibble on your lower lip. When he forces himself to look away, it's only to trace the marks you left on your glass.
You both attempt awkward small talk about the conference, which feels like the safest topic, and his heart lifts a little when you laugh at his reminder of the sales rep who actually fell over in his eagerness to speak with you.
You twirl the stem of your glass, and he traces condensation around the rim of his glass when silence falls over the table again. Now and then, your eyes meet before darting away again.
It hurts that this is what it's come to. Jack still remembers the first time you went to dinner, back when this whole thing had just begun, and how gorgeous you had looked that night. The way you had smiled when he'd brought your flowers, how you had teased him all night—how much fun the two of you had had.
This couldn't be farther from that.
Just as he’s about to say something—anything—to reach out to you again, a shadow falls over the table.
"Excuse me, sir? Ma’am?" The waiter stands there looking at you both apologetically. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind sharing your table? We're fully booked, and I was told you know each other—"
Jack is prepared to say no, doesn't want people he supposedly knows to witness this, or to ruin his attempt at salvaging it, but before he can speak, a bright and jarring voice cuts in.
"Jack!"
His stomach drops as he recognises the voice, and he has to stop himself from grimacing. "Dr. Warren," he responds with a forced smile.
"Oh, Jack won’t mind," she chimes in cheerfully to the waiter before he can protest. Then her tone turns sugary sweet as she looks at him again. "Right?"
She's set him up perfectly, making it impossible to refuse her without causing a scene. He glances over at you, noticing how you're staring down at your plate, and with a resigned shake of his head, he replies, "Of course not."
Warren breezes past the waiter and pulls out the chair next to Jack. "Sit down, Turner."
Jack hadn’t even noticed the man until now. He’s tall with dark hair, young, and looking vaguely uncomfortable as he flashes Jack an apologetic smile before taking a seat next to you.
"Sorry to intrude on your dinner. I'm Jeremy," Turner says. Jack watches as you look up to greet him and sees both of your faces shift from confusion to recognition. "Wait—"
"Jeremy?"
"Is that you, Sleepy?" His face breaks into a stupid grin. Jack hates him instantly—mostly for the nickname but also for the way he manages to make you smile.
"Oh my god, don't call me that!" you groan, covering your face briefly.
Warren leans back into her chair, watching the exchange with curious eyes. Meanwhile, Jack feels a wave of nausea wash over him.
Turner leans in, bumping his shoulder against yours, and Jack has to grip his glass tighter to prevent himself from commenting on it. Why is he sitting that close? Why are you letting him?
"Wow, you look exactly the same! How long has it been—five, six years?"
"Something like that," you nod, then huff softly. "But I think my eye bags have definitely worsened since then."
"Ah," Turner chuckles. "Still living up to your nickname then, I see."
You glare at him, and he only smiles wider. And Jack—
He wants this man dead. Not literally—or well, not mostly. But when was the last time you'd laughed like that with him? When was the last time you looked at him like that? He'd thought Warren was going to be the worst part of this dinner, but Turner is quickly taking first place.
"So, how have you been—" Warren starts, turning her body toward Jack, attempting to start a conversation between just the two of them.
But Jack doesn't care. He cuts her off, "You two know each other?" He tries to sound casual as he looks at you, but he can feel his jaw tense up.
Warren frowns as Jack speaks over her, but all he sees is Turner, glowing at you.
"Yeah, we met in med school."
"Oh, how fun!" Warren chimes in. She turns to Jack again. "Jeremy just started at Presby—he's our newest attending."
Jack still isn't looking at her, only seeing the way you smile warmly at Turner as you congratulate him.
"Did you manage to keep that attending offer at PTMC?" Warren asks you with a pointed smile, and Jack notices your brow furrow slightly before you answer.
"I did."
"She's doing amazing," Jack offers, finally looking at Warren. "Still the best-performing doctor we have."
"Oh wow!" Turner says, and Jack can see you flush, tucking a hair behind your ear.
You deftly steer the conversation into general hospital topics, easily falling back into a rhythm with Turner. You share stories from med school and let inside jokes slip, leaving Jack to simmer quietly.
And while that's going on, Warren keeps shifting her chair closer to him. Her knee brushes against his, her hands keep squeezing his arm as she tries to sequester him into a separate conversation. He's pushed his chair as far away as he can to try and avoid her touch.
"I never thought I'd see you at one of these things again," she says lightly, taking a bite of her salad.
"No," he replies, taking a sip of his wine.
Warren's silent for a second, watching him. She's definitely clocked the weirdness between you. "You're more than welcome to come to Presby anytime you want," she says, then adds, "I’d love to show you around." The implication is clear as daylight, and Jack is stunned by her audacity.
Even if she feels the weirdness, the fact that she feels it appropriate to come onto him in front of you—his wife—is astonishing. He notices your shoulders tense slightly, but he convinces himself he’s imagining it because you’re still laughing with Turner.
"Oh, I've already been there."
Warren just shrugs, spearing another piece of salad with her fork, smiling at him with a knowing look. "Things might have changed."
Evidently satisfied with that, she turns to Turner and you. "So, how close were you two back in med school?"
Jack stills, his attention honing in on you and the way your eyes widen slightly.
"Uh—"
"We dated," Turner says.
Jack's vision blurs and the noise of the restaurant dulls as blood rushes in his ears.
"Briefly," you add immediately, glancing over at Jack before dropping your gaze again. "For like two weeks."
"Still broke my heart," Turner says dramatically.
You roll your eyes. "You dated Tiffany literally less than a week after."
Turner shrugs with a grin, and Jack can't decide which is worse—knowing he once dated you, that he didn’t value you enough to keep you, or that he so easily replaced you.
You laugh, and it doesn't look like you care that much about it, but Jack can't help the ugly feeling that curls in his stomach.
"You still out there breaking hearts?" Turner asks.
"She's my wife." Jack doesn't hesitate, wanting to lay his claim even if he doesn't have the right to.
Turner's expression shifts to one of surprise, followed by a wide smile. "Oh wow. Congrats!"
He sounds genuine, which somehow only makes Jack hate him even more.
"You must be real special if Sleepy decided to settle down."
You offer a tight smile, taking a long sip of your drink as Jack follows suit. Unable to stop himself, he asks, "So, what's up with the nickname?"
Turner bursts into laughter, while you groan and point a finger at him, "Don't."
"She fell asleep in a lecture once," he says, clearly enjoying the moment.
Warren laughs loudly and mutters with a smile, "That's not very professional."
Your expression tightens, but Turner either didn't hear or just chose to ignore it, as he continues, "Our professor actually stopped class to call her out."
"I was exhausted," you defend yourself.
"You also used to fall asleep during study sessions."
"It's not my fault that you guys insisted on studying until like three in the morning," you retort.
"Good thing that's over then," Jack comments.
You look over at him, surprised. "...Yeah," you say softly.
For the first time all night, it feels like it's just the two of you again.
Until Warren smiles cloyingly at you. "A good doctor never stops studying."
"Of course," you smile, letting your gaze drop down to your plate again.
Later, after awkward goodbyes and forced smiles, you and Jack retreat back to your hotel room. There's a sharp bitterness settling in your mouth, your stomach churning after having to watch Warren flirt—blatantly, in your eyes—with Jack, and him not doing anything about it.
He could at least have some decency to wait until you're not there. You're not even going to comment on her and how disrespectful she was. All you can focus on is the anger that simmers under your skin as you brush your teeth. The rush of frustration drowns out everything else as you wash your face, your breath uneven as you change into your pyjamas.
The only thing that had gotten you through that dinner was seeing Jeremy again—he'd been the perfect distraction, keeping your attention on him with tales from med school. But you'd still noticed how Warren kept touching Jack and how pointed her comments were when she did speak to you.
When you step out of the bathroom again, after taking a few deep breaths, you find Jack sitting on the edge of the bed in sweats and a t-shirt, glasses low on his nose as he scrolls through his phone.
You look away before it can stir something in your chest. "I'm done," you tell him as you slip under the covers, turning your back on him.
By the time he comes back, you've dimmed the lights except for the lamp on his side. You listen as he removes his prosthetic, the soft sound of cream squishing as he gently massages his leg. Part of you wants to help him, but you hesitate, unsure if he would welcome it.
You stay still as he slides under the covers and turns off the lamp. You wonder what he's thinking of—if he's relieved the first day is over or if he wishes he were here with Lily instead.
A minute passes, then another, only the sounds of your breathing filling the room. Out in the hallway, you can hear muted footsteps, quiet laughter and then—
A loud sound tears through the wall. A moan, to be more specific. Long, dramatic and almost definitely fake.
Your eyes widen as another sound permeates the wall, somehow even louder the second time. It continues in a flurry of noises.
"Oh my god," you whisper.
Jack lets out a short laugh through his nose. A smile tugs at your lips at that sound. You haven't heard him laugh in forever when it was just the two of you. Without thinking, you ask, "Do you think he knows?"
Another moan echoes, and Jack snorts. "No."
You laugh quietly into your pillow. "Poor man."
Jack huffs another soft laugh. "Poor woman, more like."
You glance at him, turning around without really meaning to. "What?"
He shifts, too, his body turning toward you. "If she feels the need to fake it like that," he nods toward the wall, "then she clearly hasn't been with men who know how to make a woman feel good."
"Oh, and you do?" Your voice is light, teasing him like these past weeks haven't happened. You freeze the second you register it.
Jack stills next to you.
Heat floods your face immediately. "Oh my god, forget I said that." You turn around quickly, pulling the blanket up to your chin as if it can cool the flush that's travelling upwards. It sounded like you were challenging him, like you were asking him to—
You squeeze your eyes shut.
The mattress shifts slightly behind you as Jack exhales softly. "You know," he says after a moment, "I'd like to think I'd figure it out."
"You do not have to answer that," you squeak. "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."
He chuckles quietly, and after a moment of silence, he replies, "Goodnight, Trouble."
He doesn't like you crossed a line or like you've annoyed him—he sounds...gentle. You pretend not to notice the way he puts pressure on your nickname.
"...Goodnight, Jack."
Nothing from the second day really sticks in your memory. You sit through lectures, take notes, nod at the appropriate moments, but your brain keeps snagging on the same thing—over and over again.
How you woke up wrapped in Jack's arms. How warm he was, the weight of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your neck, and—
God.
The feel of his cock against your ass. How, when you'd shifted, still half asleep, it had twitched against you.
You'd tried to ignore it all day. It wasn't on purpose—just biology—but your mind keeps trying to spin it. The cold shower you took was not enough to keep the flush away throughout the day.
Jack's acting like it didn't happen. Like he hadn't nearly jumped off the bed when he woke up and noticed it. That still hurts to think about.
The warm feeling immediately turns sour when you remember that—a feeling that only worsens when Warren and Jeremy run into you after the celebratory dinner is over and the room has been turned into a dance floor.
Warren barely even acknowledges you as she sidles up to Jack. You hate how she speaks to him, hate how you can't help noticing how she stands close to him, how she laughs when he jokes, how she keeps touching him.
Jack doesn't seem to mind, and it makes you wonder briefly if you've been wrong about Lily—that it wasn't necessarily her, it was just anyone but you.
Jeremy tries to keep a conversation going with you, but even he sees it. His eyes keep glancing from the way you glare down at your champagne flute to the way Warren is laughing. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile that asks if you're okay. You nod your head and force a smile back. You don’t need him to intervene; if Jack wanted to, he would.
He doesn't.
A sudden squeal from the microphone interrupts the chatter. "If there are any couples here tonight—or anyone hoping to be in one—head to the dance floor!"
Laughter ripples through the room as soft music begins playing.
You press your lips together, staring down at your drink. You plan to stay where you are.
"Wanna go—" Warren begins, and your chest aches. You can't stay here if he dances with her.
But Jack stays still, too, only to then reach his outstretched hand into your field of vision. "May I?"
You look up at him, surprised, but then realise it's just for show. Married couples dance. He can't exactly go off with Warren when there are people here whom you know. One last time pretending can't hurt, so you place your hand in his.
He leads you out onto the crowded dance floor and places a hand at your waist. The two of you step awkwardly, but somewhere between the music and the closeness, it stops. Your body remembers the shape of him, the rhythm, the ease of existing near him.
Your arms wrap around his neck, and the two of you sway gently. For the first time during this trip, you actually look at him. The lighting catches the green flecks in his eyes, his gaze locked on yours.
Your mouth goes dry, and you nervously bite your lip, almost willing to swear that his gaze drops down to it. Heat rushes up your neck.
You lean in closer, and he mirrors your movement.
"Can I—" he begins, and for a foolish second, you think he might kiss you. Then the room erupts into loud claps as the song ends, and your eyes snap open. You take a quick step back.
"I—I'll be right back," you stammer.
Jack frowns. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you nod quickly. "Just need to...pee!" You rush off before he can say anything else.
The bathroom is too bright and too quiet, though you're thankful no one is here to watch your spiral. You grip the sink tightly, exhaling harshly.
You need to get your shit together. Remember that this doesn't mean anything. It's a performance—he doesn't want you. No matter how much you can't help but keep hoping, even after the hallway, that he does.
You stay in there longer than you should. Splash water on your wrists, fix your lipstick, and try not to feel like you're sixteen years old again—stupid and foolish when it comes to love.
When you finally head back, you're not sure what you expected, but it wasn't seeing Jack and Warren laughing together. Her hand on his bicep, her head tilted backwards. You watch as she leans in, whispering something to him before heading over to the bar.
The hurt turns into anger as humiliation washes over you. He really doesn't care about your reputation or the fact that you'll forever be known for him straying.
You stride over to him.
"There you are—" he begins with a relieved smile.
You don't let him finish, leaning in to murmur to him. "I'm gonna go."
Jack blinks at you. "Why? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," you huff, but he seems unconvinced, searching your face for answers.
He sets his glass down. "Okay, let's go."
Your brows knit together. "No, you stay." Your gaze shifts to Warren. "It looks like you're doing just fine without me anyway."
"What—"
You step back, sending him a forced smile that hurts. "Have fun." You begin to turn around, but then remember— "Oh, just text me if you need the room."
Before he can ask anything else, before you can embarrass yourself further and before he can notice the angry tears glistening in your eyes, you turn and walk away.
Jack stands frozen for several seconds after you leave, staring at the spot you just occupied, trying—yet failing—to wrap his head around what just happened. He’d been trying to shake off Warren ever since you went to the bathroom, and just when she finally decided to head to the bar, you appeared with that piercing glare.
It looks like you're doing fine without me anyway.
Your words replay in his head.
Text me if you need the room.
Said as if you expected him not to come back, or like you expected him to—
His stomach sinks. He pushes through the crowd, ignoring Warren’s calls, impatiently tapping his fingers against his arms as he waits for the elevator. When it finally reaches your floor, he rushes out, swiping his key card haphazardly.
As the door swings open, he immediately sees you pacing, making sharp turns from the bed to the desk and back again. Your heels are thrown off to the side carelessly.
He closes the door behind him softly. "What's going on?"
You stop at the desk, your back turned to him, and he notices your shoulders rising and falling with quick breaths. "Nothing. You can go back," you dismiss him with a wave of your hand. There's an anger in your tone he’s never heard before.
"Go back?" He doesn't understand why you think he would—you're clearly upset.
"To Warren. Or whoever."
"Why on earth would I do that?"
You huff a laugh, bitter and low. "Don't play dumb."
Jack takes a cautious step closer. "Tell me what's going on."
"I told you. Nothing."
"Well, it's clearly not nothing," he says, frustration creeping into his voice. He doesn't understand why you won't look at him or why you're pushing him away like this—like you can't stand him.
"Jack—" you sigh, glancing back for barely a second. It's enough for him to spot the frustration carved deep in your features.
"Sweetheart," he says softly. You remain silent, but he feels like he’s making progress. "Why did you say that? About the room?"
Whatever hope he had quickly dissipates as you rip your earrings out and fling them onto the desk. "You know."
"No," he says. "I really don't."
You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, turning to face him, your eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, please." You cross your arms defiantly. "She was all over you. And you just let her."
Jack doesn't pretend not to know who you're talking about. It's clear that it's Warren. He wants to make it clear that he has no interest in her, but in his surprise, all he can manage to say is, "She knows we're married."
You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Well...you're not. Not really. Not in the way that matters." Taking a step closer, you add, "And she clearly doesn’t care anyway, but if it matters to you, you can just tell her we’re in an open relationship."
Jack stares at you. "Is that what you want?"
Your expression twists instantly. "What?"
"Is that what you want?" he repeats, slower, taking a step forward, too.
Your laugh this time sounds bitter. "Who cares what I want? If you want this, go for it," you say, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "Seriously. Have fun. I’ll leave."
Jack watches as you begin messily shoving things into your bag. Why is it that you keep saying things like this when you know what he feels for you? Are you just looking for a fight so you can leave?
Jack tightens his jaw. "And where exactly are you staying?"
You shrug.
"At Jeremy's?" he says, mocking the way you said it all evening. Soft and sweet and nauseating.
"Maybe...yeah," you snap, glaring at him. "He wouldn't flirt in front of the person he’s supposed to be married to."
Jack shakes his head in frustration. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why did you keep saying that?"
You throw a shirt down and spin toward him. "Because it's true and you know it." You step closer, and he mirrors your movement. "Just stop pretending."
You’re close enough now for him to see your hands shaking with anger.
"I know you regret this," you say, voice cracking as it rises in volume. "And it’s okay."
"What?"
"The least you can do," you continue, "is be honest about it."
"I don’t—" His pulse races, the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch up.
"Come on," you scoff. "You don’t have to pretend anymore."
"Pretend what?" He steps closer.
"That you didn't hate every second of this. That saying yes to me wasn’t the biggest mistake of your life."
"What are you talking about?"
"That you regret getting stuck in this marriage!"
"That's not true!"
You close your eyes briefly, looking utterly worn out. "Can we not do this? Please?"
There’s barely any space between you now. He can feel your uneven breaths, just as clearly as he can see them.
"I've got a viewing in a few days. If it looks good, then I'll be out of your hair soon." The words pummel into him, stealing his breath.
You continue like you haven't just broken his heart, "We can sign the divorce papers when we get back. It's been long enough now."
The pieces of his heart shatter into even finer shards. "What?"
You avoid his gaze. "You can finally be with the person you actually want to be with."
His brows pinch together. "Who?"
"Lily."
Jack stares at you, confused. "...Lily?"
You huff, anger bubbling back up. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't pretend you don’t know."
"I genuinely don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!"
"I've seen the way you talk about her," you tell him. "The way your face changes."
His brain feels like it’s malfunctioning. "You think I’m in love with Lily?"
"You seriously expect me to believe otherwise?"
"Yes, because that's insane."
"I’m not blind, Jack!" you snap, your voice cracking. "I love you, and you don't love me, and that's fine."
"You—" His voice comes out rough. "What?"
Your eyes widen, and you quickly look away. "...Let's just stop."
Jack's hand shoots out, grabbing hold of your wrist before you can turn away. "No." The word comes out fast. "That's not what I want."
His mind is spinning. You love him.
"Well, we can't always get what we want," you say quietly, sounding incredibly sad. You try to tug your wrist free, but he keeps his grip firm.
"Trouble—" Jack begins, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "You love me?" he asks quietly.
You love him.
"Jack," you interject.
He takes a step closer. "I don't understand why you’re still pulling away. Not when you know—“
"That’s exactly why!" you cut him off.
His laugh comes out strained. "Is it that horrible to be with me? To let me love you?"
You stare at him with wide eyes, but then you shake your head. "You don't love me."
"What?" he asks. But you knew? Didn't you?
"No, you’re upset," you say quickly. "Or you feel guilty, or—or you're trying to fix this because I said something embarrassing."
"You think this is pity? After everything?"
"I think you're a good person," you say quietly. "And I think you're trying not to hurt me."
"No."
"Jack—"
"You really think I'd do that?" he asks quietly.
You hesitate.
His laugh comes out sharp. He turns away for a moment, pressing both hands against his mouth, as if trying to hold it together. Because somehow this feels more devastating than everything else: worse than thinking you didn’t want him, worse than the apartment viewings, worse than the divorce papers.
You think he pitied you. That every moment between you had been an obligation.
"You think I stayed because I felt bad for you?" he asks.
"I...yeah," you murmur, and the words nearly take him out at the knees.
"Sweetheart," he says softly, and there’s something wrecked in the word now. "I don’t know how I fucked this up so badly."
"You think I wanted out?" he asks. "All this time?" He shakes his head hard before you can answer. "I have spent months trying not to love you."
Your breath hitches in your throat.
"I tried," he admits helplessly. "I tried so hard. And I failed."
Doubt still flickers across your face.
"Sweetheart. Please. I don't know how else to tell you."
You look down. "I just don't want you to say something you'll regret tomorrow."
"Regret?" he repeats quietly. That damn word haunts him.
You shrug helplessly, eyes glassy. "When this all settles," you say softly, "I don't want you to wake up and feel trapped again."
"Oh sweetheart," he murmurs, "I have done a lot of stupid shit that I regret, but loving you has never been one of them."
You still look doubtful.
Jack feels something hot and frantic curl in his chest. He doesn't know what to say to make you believe him, so he does the next best thing. He closes the gap between you, his hand cradling your jaw as he tilts your head back and kisses you. It isn't a soft or careful kiss like he'd imagined you'd share after he'd told you that—no, this is angry, frustration bleeding into every part of it.
You shove weakly at his chest, and he's ready to step back, but then your fingers close into a fist, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer.
His lips press against yours again, devouring you as he crowds you into the desk. He loses himself in the feeling, barely noticing how he's lifted you onto the desk, how your legs have parted around him or how he's grinding into you.
All he can focus on is the way you breathe his name softly, the sweet sounds you make as he trails kisses down your neck, and how your fingers claw at his hair, his shoulders, his arms, urging him to come closer.
You love him.
It's an euphoric feeling—he almost feels like he's floating outside his body. The thought keeps hitting him over and over again, dizzying and intoxicating.
Jack pulls back to look you in the eye. "I love you." His thumb brushes your jaw gently and across your kiss-swollen lips. You kiss it softly, leaning your face into his touch.
"Do you understand? Not Lily. Not anyone else." He searches your eyes, desperate for you to grasp the depth of his feelings. You’re the only one who’s ever mattered. "I love you."
Your eyes start glistening again, but you nod. Relief fills his chest. "I thought you didn't—" Before he can say anything to reassure you again, you move forward, capturing his lips in another heated kiss. The force of it nearly tilts him backwards, and the way you giggle against his lips sends his heart fluttering.
Your legs pull him closer, and he finally notices how your dress has bunched up around your waist. He curses at the sight of your underwear, the sweet little bow that starkly contradicts the naughty way you're moving against him and the wetness that's slowly soaking his slacks.
"Fuck me," he groans, his fingers gripping onto your waist, helping you move. He's never been this hard before. He moves slowly, trailing his fingers down to your thighs, watching you carefully.
His chest rumbles lowly when he finally feels just how wet you are. He can't count on one—or even two—hands how much he's thought about doing this and reality is so much better.
"You really love me?" he asks quietly, still not quite able to believe it.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I always have."
He leans his forehead against yours, pieces of his heart mending with each kiss. He pushes the fabric aside, brushes his fingers softly through your wetness, circling your clit and listening as you moan sweetly for him. He swears he could cum from just this.
You're so soft. So sweet. So tight around his fingers. "You're gorgeous," he breathes, and he feels you squeeze around him. He catches on to that quickly, leaning in close so he can whisper to you. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. You're so wet. So perfect." He pulls his fingers in and out, relishing in the sounds he manages to pull from both your cunt and your mouth.
"Ja-ack," you gasp, and he can tell you're close.
"Be a good girl and cum for me," he says, pressing his other hand against your clit. The combined stimulation and his words push you over the edge, your legs shaking against him, your nails pressing hard into his arms. He doesn't mind, welcoming it and staying close until you begin pulling back.
He's never seen anyone as stunning as you. He watches as the glazed look in your eyes slowly subsides, and you come back to earth.
He still can't believe this is real. His thumb brushes softly against your jaw. "Hi, sweetheart."
"Hi," you murmur, a shy smile on your face. "That was—that was incredible."
It's like you know he'll tease you because you pull his face close, kissing him again. He could do this all the time. He hopes you'll let him.
He's so caught up in your kisses and making you feel good that he's forgotten about himself. It's only when your hands travel down his chest to his slacks and begin to palm him that he remembers.
You grin into the kiss at the groans he makes.
"Stop teasing," he begs, but doesn't move to change anything. He stands still as you find the zipper and begin pulling his slacks and boxer briefs down. He lets you take the lead, won't force you to do anything you don't want to—even if he's aching to feel your heat around him.
You pull him out, and then you stare down at his cock with a wide-eyed look. He can't help but tease you. "Don't tell me you've never seen one of these before?"
"Ha," you huff, slapping his chest. "It's just...big."
"You flatter me," he says, pride rushing through him. He's about to make another silly comment, but it evaporates the second you twist your hand.
"Fuck," he gasps when you pull him close, letting the head swipe through your wetness.
"I don't—" It takes all his strength to think clearly. "I don't have a condom."
"It's okay." You continue grinding against him.
"You sure?"
"Yes," you confirm, looking him deeply in the eye. Then you position him against your entrance and pull at his hips. He pushes forward slowly. Fuck. You're so tight. So warm.
He watches you carefully, ready to stop at the slightest hint of discomfort.
"Move, Jack," you beg him once the full length of him is inside. "Please."
Who is he to deny you? His hips snap forward, setting a steady pace. "I won't last long," he warns you.
You kiss him again, pulling him closer. Your gasps and moans are more than enough to send him over the edge, but he gathers all the strength he has. He reaches a hand down and finds your clit and waits until your eyes begin to glaze over and your legs shake again.
Only then does he let go of all restraint. His hips snap into you in a furious pace before he pulls away with a loud groan, spilling onto your cunt. He watches it drip down your thighs, his chest rising unevenly as he comes down from his high.
"That was—" he breathes out, locking eyes with you again. You nod, equally speechless. The two of you share a moment of silence before Jack springs into action, grabbing a towel to wipe you down.
He sends you away to pee and slips out of his clothes, leaving only his underwear on. His prosthetic lands next to the bed as he crawls under the covers, a wave of nervousness washing over him.
What if you regretted it? What if you didn't feel like that anyway?
You emerge from the bathroom, barely meeting his gaze, and Jack's stomach drops at the sight. His t-shirt from yesterday hangs on the chair, and he watches breathlessly as you put it on along with a fresh pair of panties. Then you settle in beside him, leaning into the crook of his neck with a smile, and he finally feels himself relax.
You don't regret it.
"I'm sorry," he says softly after a moment of breathing in your calming scent.
"For what?"
"For not telling you sooner." He exhales, tracing gentle patterns on your skin with his fingers. "I thought you knew. I thought you were pulling away because of that."
You pause to process his words, your head shaking firmly. "I'm sorry, too. I should've asked you instead of just assuming." You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. "I overheard you saying you regretted this, and that sent me spiralling. It didn't help that I thought you loved Lily."
Jack frowns. "When did I say that?"
"In the hallway. With Robby..."
He thinks back and realises, "Oh, sweetheart. That's not what I meant—I said I regretted it because I fell in love with you during it, and I couldn't stop it from happening despite knowing you didn't want me like that."
"I do—"
"I know," he interrupts gently. "I know that now." He squeezes your fingers and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your head. "And just to be clear—if you need to hear it again—I don’t love Lily. I love you."
He can feel the smile spreading across your face. "I love you, too."
He's grateful you're not looking at him because he must look silly grinning this widely. You press a kiss to his neck and then sigh contentedly.
"Guess I should've trusted Olivia," you murmur after a moment.
He chuckles, making a mental note to send her a thank-you gift for having his back without him knowing. "Robby, too."
You groan. "They're gonna be insufferable once they find out they were right."
Jack hums, his fingers dancing along your back. "We don't have to tell them right away."
"No?" You lean back slightly to look at him.
"We can keep this between us for a little bit, don't you think?" he says, his gaze dropping down your lips.
"Yeah," you breathe, your eyes darkening as your fingers gently tug at the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him close. Jack kisses you again. And again. And again.
He isn't sure how long he kisses you for, not that it really matters. All he knows is that it won't ever get better than this. He finally has his girl.
a/n: aaahhhh!! they finally confessed!!! it's been a long (and painful) journey but we're finally here <33333
Nobody is writing for Peter Prior (you're doing the lords work), so I'm gonna jump on the opportunity to make requests for him while I have the chance.
Please can I ask for domestic!Peter - maybe him and reader are high school sweethearts, maybe she moved to town some time ago and fell in love instantly, either way their married and living their best life. They could even have a kid or two as a cherry on top (I'm weak for dad!Peter, he's such a sweetheart)
Thank you again! He's such an interesting character and doesn't get enough attention <3
The few of us who are writing for Peter are holding the line, but there should definitely be more! Everyone please go support them as well ♥️
Thank you for sending this in!
Who Fell Asleep First?
dad!Peter x wife!Reader
Masterlist
Peter Prior Playlist (I absolutely made a playlist for him)
Word Count: 2.1k
Content Warnings: mentions of abuse, domestic fluff, Pete and Reader are parents (no physical descriptions other than inherited features (eyes, smile, etc.).
AN: This was supposed to be a drabble and it got away from me. I genuinely love dad!Peter so much. I could write 100 of these.
The jingling of keys in the deadbolt interrupted the movie you had playing softly in the living room. Looking down at your two peacefully sleeping, young kids that occupied the room with you, you prayed they didn’t wake up with Pete’s appearance. The kids tried to stay up to see their dad when he got home, but they were absolutely conked out after forty minutes of fighting against the Sandman.
Four year old Oliver was contorted on the opposite end of the sofa from you. His little face that favored yours was smushed into the cushions with his legs stretched out at odd angles and an arm hung over the edge. A little trail of drool connected the corner of his mouth to the edge of the throw blanket you wrapped around him signifying he was out out.
Two year old Ava, on the other hand, was laying on a nest of blankets and pillows she insisted on constructing as she waited for Pete to get home. Her face held a similar earnestness that Pete had, and her eyes were identical to his.
Lucky for you, both of your kids inherited your husband’s kind temperament -Oliver most of all. You chuckled to yourself when you realized Ava didn’t even finish what she was doing before she—too—was out. She looked like she was mid crawl into the partial nest before she gave up entirely, opting to just accept the comfort of her current spot as she also succumbed to sleep.
Pete’s eyes landed on Oliver first, making note to stay as quiet as possible before meeting yours. He shot you a tired smile as he shrugged this thick coat off and removed his boots at the door, shedding as much of his workday off as he could at the door.
Leaving the movie playing and forgotten, you carefully rose from the sofa and cautiously stepped over Ava to meet him as he stepped into the warm house. Pete leaned down to give you a kiss, his hands instantly reaching for you. His grip on your waist was comforting, and you savored it each and every time he touched you. Your hands rested against his chest, the stiff, beige work shirt was uncomfortable against your palms, but the heat he radiated underneath was what you were searching for.
“You look exhausted.” You mumbled against his lips, running your hands up to rest on either side of his tense neck. Your thumbs massaged behind his ears and he let out a groan that made you chuckle into him.
In his defense, Pete had dark bags under his eyes that showed just how tired he truly was. He took a heavy breath through his nose and dropped his forehead to yours gently when your palms moved to cup his angular jaw. His aftershave still remained on his skin, though it was faint. It was a smell that lingered on his pillow and on the various sweatshirts he had laying around the house. It was a warm scent that felt like home to you.
“I’m dead on my feet.” His usually soft voice was raspy as you felt him sag against you, his face burrowing into your neck. The subtle stubble that started to appear after a long day scratched against your skin, causing you to giggle and shove him away gently. He didn’t let you go, but the boyish grin he had on his face let you know he knew exactly what he was doing.
Cheeky.
You pinched his rib and he only pulled you closer to him, laughing under his breath as to not wake the sleeping kids. Pete rested his head down on your shoulder once more. “I could fall asleep right here.”
“I’m sure you could. Your son does the same thing.” You rolled your eyes playfully, though Pete couldn’t see you. You pulled him back again so you could look at him. “When’s the last time you ate anything that didn’t come from that vending machine?” His mouth went sideways as he thought about how to answer you. After a few seconds, you didn’t give him the opportunity to answer. “That’s what I thought. Hop in the shower and I’ll have a plate ready when you get out.”
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” His hands traveled down to the curve of your bum, gently kneading the soft flesh under your pajama bottoms as he held you against him. Pete’s lips met yours once more, then you pecked the tip of his nose as you started to loosen his tie for him.
“Every day, but I never get tired of hearing it.” You grinned up at him. “Come on. Shower, food, bed.” You tugged him by the loosened tie until he was following you to the hallway, his hands guiding your hips. You stopped at the entrance of the living room.
“Let’s get them to bed.” Pete said as he was already going to Oliver, gently uncovering him before picking up the boy without trying to jostle him too much. Oliver groaned for a moment and Pete froze as Oliver settled in his father’s arms.
Pete watched as you picked Ava up, but unlike her brother, her eyes popped open and looked around in a panic as soon as you got her in your arms.
“Papa? Papa?” Her little voice squealed out. Ava squirmed, legs kicking until she saw Peter and calmed down.
“Shhh, I’m here, my Ava.” Pete whispered, soothing his twin with a hand softly cupping her cheek. “Mama’s taking you to bed. Papa’s right here, you can go back to sleep.”
“I wait.” She told him with narrowed, sleep-riddled eyes. Her bottom lip stuck out to let him know she was not happy with how late he got back.
“You waited for me?” Pete’s voice was so soft and his eyes shined with the reflection of the tv as he stepped over to give her one of his hands. She nodded, wrapping her tiny hand around his index finger. “Who fell asleep first?” It was a game Pete played with both kids, though it was only for his entertainment.
“Oli.” Ava whispered with a conspiratorial, toothy grin. Her smile widened when Pete leaned down to kiss her forehead, his own grin a mirror of hers as he straightened up.
Genetics had a funny way of showing themselves when you had kids—to have features that reminded you of Pete on two separate, tiny humans was incredibly jarring sometimes, but seeing the features you fell in love with on each of your children filled you with so much joy. Oliver’s eyes, Ava’s smile—even the mannerisms they developed from both of you.
“That’s my girl,” Ava hid her face into your chest and clutched your shirt with a sleepy giggle, loving the praise from her dad.
“Alright, let’s get these rugrats into bed.” You led Pete to the kids’ shared room. Each of you set your respective kid down, and while you got off Scott-free with Ava falling straight to sleep, Pete wasn’t so lucky.
Oliver whined when Pete lowered him down to the small mattress and the small boy reached out for his shirt, gripping it tightly.
“Papa,” Oliver’s eyes cracked open. Pete’s hair hung in his eyes as he kneeled next to the bed, leaning over Oliver and rubbing his chest to soothe him back to sleep. “I waited for you.” There was no attitude in his voice, unlike his sister, and he rubbed at his rolling eyes with his free hand. Pete chuckled breathily to himself before asking:
“Who fell asleep first?”
“Ava.” Pete bit his lip to hold back a laugh as he looked at you from over his shoulder with a raise of his brow. You shook your head, letting Pete have his gun as you tucked Ava in. “I think she was snoring too.”
“Now I know you’re fibbing.” Pete said through a chuckle he couldn’t stop, tickling Oli’s neck. The boy squirmed, keeping his volume down because he knew his sister would be sleeping.
“Maybe she wasn’t snoring…” Oli admitted bashfully, “-but she did fall asleep first!” He insisted as his eyes fluttered, fighting sleep once more while trying to plead his case.
“Alright, I believe you.” His hand tapped Oli’s chest ever so lightly until the boy finally lost the battle and sleep overtook him for the second time that night.
Pete gently pried Oli’s grip from his shirt before setting his little arm next to him in the bed. Pete grabbed the blankets he pulled to the end of the bed when he initially tried to set Oli down and pulled them up to tuck him in. “Good night.” He whispered as he leaned down to kiss the top of Oli’s head, his hand running over his son’s growing hair.
Pete groaned as he stood. He took the few steps over to the transition crib Ava occupied soundly and gave her a kiss just as he did with Oli, wishing sweet dreams upon her. He watched as Ava’s chest rose and fell for a few moments. You wrapped your arms around Pete’s waist and his automatically wrapped around your shoulder.
“I can’t thank you enough for this.” Pete whispered against the side of your head where he followed with a sweet kiss. “I mean it.”
Pete’s upbringing left much to be desired. Hank was the scum of the earth who beat and berated every ounce of confidence Pete could’ve had as a child, out of him. It was something Pete never understood when he was on the receiving end of the violence.
He couldn’t ever imagine looking down at one of his kids and seeing what Hank saw when he looked at him. He couldn’t imagine saying the things Hank said to him—the foul insults and harsh teachings. He couldn’t imagine putting his hands on either of his children, watching the childlike wonder leave their eyes. How does a father live with himself after that?
Pete promised himself that if he ever became a father, he would show them all the love and affection he was so cruelly denied from his own, unconditionally.
“You did this, too.” You whispered back to him, planting a kiss under his jaw. “You deserve credit. God knows it’s like having two more of you here with me day in and day out. They adore you so much, Pete.” Pete looked down at you with sheer adoration and love, and a profound sadness that would never really go away.
Even after being together since you were freshmen in high school, over a decade and two kids later, he still looked at you the same way he did back then, just with more purpose now.
Your uncle was your ride home after school, and he was also the hockey coach, so on practice days you did your homework at the rink while the boys practiced. Pete was so wildly shy back then. He was a great hockey player, and he could’ve been boisterous because of that alone, but he never was. He was humble, sweet and goofy, quickly befriending you in between drills with stuttered words and the real threat of extra drills from the coach if Pete didn’t leave you alone. It was his reserved smile, you recalled, that drew you in first.
It wasn’t easy to get to this point, but you did, and you couldn’t imagine any other life with or without Pete.
“Come on,” You pulled him behind you as you left the bedroom, clicking on the nightlight, turning off the light, and leaving the door cracked just enough if either needed to get up.
You turned in his arms and gave Pete another peck on his neck before giving your orders.
“Ten minutes, then I’m coming in to fish you out.” Pete smiled softly at you. “I got a net and everything.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I mean it, Pete. You gotta get some food in you and then you can go to sleep, and luckily you have the next two days off so you can sleep in as long as you want tomorrow.”
“Music to my ears.”
“Good,” You tapped his bum. “Now get moving.”
“Alright, alright.” Pete shook his head, but walked to the master bedroom to start shedding his clothes before he hopped in the shower of the in-suite.
“Ten minutes, Pete.” You called after him.
“I heard ya!” He called back, laughing. The shower turned on just after and you sighed in relief. There were too many nights when Pete came home and made the mistake of falling face first into the bed before doing anything else and you both learned he was down for the night when that happened. It was rare for him to come home like this, but you were always prepared.
You peeked into the kids room one more time to check that they were asleep before making your way to the kitchen to roll such a long day to its end.
I passed a flower shop next to a tattoo shop and at first I laughed because I thought it was ironic and then i freaked because IMAGINE YOUR OTP IN A FLORIST/TATTOO ARTIST AU
I cannot BELIEVE a post I made when I was 13 is circulating! And also apparently started this trope? I thought somebody had the idea separately and it blew up that way😭
I'm getting the erge to write again. I reread some of my old fics and I want to add to them, and maybe write for some new fandoms. Maybe Ser Duncan the Tall?
I'm off from work today so I'm rewatching AKOTSK for probably like the 8th time because I wanted to listen to Baelor's voice again. It still shocks me every time how damn adorable Egg is, like he's still the cutest little thing I've ever seen!!! I don’t understand how someone can be that precious, he gives me the worst cuteness aggression 😭😭 I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and buy him a kitten
a/n - ok i get rlly into births i actually think they're rlly fucking interesting, like just yesterday i learned about paravaginal births and??? why is that an option??? but dw it doesn't happen here. i had to include the miss congeniality easter egg, bc i started this yesterday (apr 25th) benjamin and shawn are my sister wives. samira doesn’t leave the pitt, she just leaves the day shift, obv. i had a lot of fun with this, and i hope you do too!!! time to find out if it's a ronan or isadora! phoebe or phoebo! <3
♡♡♡
Your nursery colors were green and yellow. It was calming, and neutral but not gray. There were little dragonflies embroidered into the curtains, and flowers on the rug, and vintage children's book art hanging on the walls. Jack kept his nephew’s first ever hockey stick leaning against the bookshelf, barely two feet long, determined to get your little baby out on the ice as soon as possible.
You liked it in there. It was nice. You could sit in the cushy armchair with your feet up, breeze blowing in through the open window, making the dragonflies fly. It was a right side better than suffocating on your back in a sweltering bed under the weight of your baby. And sometimes, on hard days, you looked over into the empty crib and pictured a little red haired infant, fast asleep under the galaxy mobile.
Jack often found you asleep in there. Sometimes he found you awake, and you would say, “Oh, hun, now that you’re here, mind folding these hand me downs we got from Dana?”
But not anymore. The nursery was done, painted, dried, decorated, and stocked with anything you could need. The cot in your room was set up, along with a cart of midnight postpartum essentials, of which you got a list from every childbearing woman in your life. You had pounds of frozen meals ready in the freezer. You had decided on names. You had deep cleaned and decluttered the entire apartment from head to toe. You were absolutely ready.
In every way but the physical, of course. Every appointment you had, it was firm, undilated cervix, sitting high, and perfectly healthy. You were incredibly grateful the baby was healthy, but by week forty, you would have been almost as grateful to hear any note of progress.
But nada. Zip. No action.
You tried to stay positive, to remind yourself how lucky you were to be making it to term. Hadn’t you seen dozens of preemies in your line of work, who needed extensive, invasive care or worse, who didn't make it at all?
No matter how guilty it made you feel, though, you couldn’t quite help the annoyance that crept into your brain more and more with each day you spent still pregnant. You were truly becoming the stereotype of the angry pregnant lady, waddling around with a scowl, complaining about sweat, and not being able to see your toes.
“I hate this,” you said, two days after your due date. “The baby is healthy, the baby is ready, I’m certainly ready, so what’s the fucking hold up?”
You had had your forty week check up just that past Wednesday, where Jill was too happy to report that your cervix was wide, thick, and hard as a rock.
“I’m sorry,” said Dana, looking up from her charts. “Sometimes the baby just comes on their own damn schedule. You better get used to that.”
You grunted, pulling at your scrubs. Dana’s lips quirked in sympathy.
“Why don’t you head home?” she said. “There’s only an hour left in the shift, and you can start your maternity leave at forty weeks, can’t you? I’m sure Gloria couldn’t fault you for that if she got a look at you.”
“No way,” you said, slamming your computer keys harshly. “Jack’s taking twelve months off when the baby comes, only three of those are paid, and I need to save.”
“You’re fine,” Dana dismissed. “Jack has spent the last decade and a half making doctor money, taking overtime, and never taking a day off. He buys the same t-shirts and jeans every few years, toiletries, food, and that’s pretty much it. I know that guy’s got savings.”
“Yeah, I know, but I still —” you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp.
Your muscles were tightening, cramping more than you’d ever felt before. Dana took off her glasses.
“Woah,” you said, as the pain spread from the front to your back. “That’s new.”
“Braxton hicks?” asked Dana cautiously.
You shook your head.
“I don’t think so,” you breathed, rubbing your belly. “No, this is — worse.”
Dana rolled her chair right up next to yours, swiveling you to be knee to knee. She had an excited glint in her eye.
“Do you think, possibly, it could be…?”
You tried not to smile too wide. The pain was worse than it had ever been, but you could still talk through it.
“I don’t know, maybe,” you said. “D’you think?”
“Why not?” she said. “Start timing them!”
You pulled out your phone, fingers shaking slightly in excitement.
“Sixty-two seconds,” you said when it was done. “It lasted sixty-two seconds.”
“Good start,” said Dana, patting your knee. “Keep track of ’em, and who knows. The betting board might be cleared by this time tomorrow.”
It took everything in you not to squeal from pure excitement. You rested your phone open next to your computer, trying to focus back on work. Your eyes frequently flicked over to it, checking the time. It was five, ten, fifteen minutes before anything else happened. The same clenching pain, spreading from front to back, rolled over you.
“Another minute,” you said happily to Dana when that too had passed. “Sixty-four seconds, that time.”
“Want anything, kid?” she asked. “Heating pads, tylenol?”
“No thanks,” you said. “They’re not too bad yet.”
By the third contraction, Jack was walking through the door.
“Jack!” you said loudly, attempting to jump up, getting halfway through the motion, and sitting back down. “Jackie, a contraction!”
His face changed instantly from warm fondness, to worried shock. He picked up his pace, hurrying around the partition to kneel in front of you. His eyes were wide.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “How long?”
“One minute, with fifteen in between,” you said, showing him your phone. “What do we do? Should I go home now?”
He took your phone, thinking.
“Why don’t I give you a ride,” he said finally. “You can shower and eat, in case this is the real thing. How’s that sound?”
You thought it sounded good, starving and grimy as you were, so you gave everyone your excited goodbyes, loaded into his car, and went home. It took some convincing to get Jack to leave you. You had to remind him that he was scheduled to work in about fifteen minutes, and Robby wouldn’t be happy if he wasn’t there for shift change, before he kissed you goodbye.
You almost relished in the ache as you started your shower, positioning your phone right outside the door. You were so desperate for this pregnancy to end, you could work through the pain. As you were rinsing conditioner from your hair, another contraction started to hit. But as you reached through the glass door to document it, you saw that the timer read twenty minutes and counting.
Twenty minutes. The contractions had gone from fifteen minutes apart, to twenty. That wasn’t that unusual, was it? Things could be irregular in the beginning, but it would even out, right? But as you heated up some pasta for dinner, the increments between episodes became longer and longer. When a whole hour had passed without one, you knew it had been a false start.
Your heart was sinking as you texted Jack.
Contractions slowed down :( I don’t think it’s happening
His bubble popped up almost immediately.
I’m sorry honey. Want me to bring you waffles from Rosie’s in the morning?
You smiled.
You know me too well
You went to bed that night disappointed, but determined. You were starting to second guess your assessment that the cramps weren’t braxton hicks, but whatever they were, it was a first. It meant progression.
The next day at work you did some home remedy research. Castor oil was a no go, for obvious reasons, but there were still plenty of non medicinal measures that couldn’t hurt to try.
“Spicy foods, curb walking, uphill sprints,” Javadi read over your shoulder as you showed the list to Robby. “Dates, raspberry leaf tea…”
“You don’t really think any of these work, do you?” said Robby skeptically.
You glared at him.
“Until you have to start wearing adult diapers because you pee a little every time you bend down, kindly keep your opinions to yourself, Michael,” you said, and Javadi tried to stifle her snort. “That just cost you lunch. I require one extra hot jalfrezi with chicken.”
He didn’t dare argue, just snapped his mouth shut and went to make the order with his tail between his legs.
After your eye watering meal, one bite of which had Robby red as a tomato and wheezing into a straight mug of creamer, you decided to take a trip outside. You took Victoria with you, partly because the possibility of falling down and not being able to get back up was high, but also because the terror in her eyes every time you wobbled was slightly amusing.
You walked along the curb in the ambulance bay for as long as you could justify being away from the hub. By the end of it, you were panting, exhausted, and didn’t feel any closer to labor. You huffed and puffed your way slowly back inside, Javadi trailing awkwardly behind you.
“Any luck?” asked Dana.
You could only shake your sweaty head.
“Not yet,” you said, texting Jack, “but you never know.”
Please get dates!!!
A few hours later, when he was awake, he responded.
The fruit?
You rolled your eyes.
Obviously the fruit
He sent you back a thumbs up.
No one was convinced at the efficacy of your little tricks, but they all wished you luck as you waddled out to Jack’s truck. You could tell, as you updated him, that Jack had doubts of his own, but he was smart enough to stay silent while you munched on your dates.
“They’ll work,” you said. “They have to.”
Sure enough, later that night as you bounced on your yoga ball, you felt a now familiar sensation at the base of your belly.
“Fucking finally!” you said to no one in particular, perhaps Romeo where he lay snoozing on the couch.
You called Jack, and he answered on the second ring.
“What’s up?”
“Tell Robby he’s an idiot,” you said smugly. “Guess what I’m having right now?”
“A contraction?” he said. “Really?”
“Really,” you said. “It’s only the first one, but I just wanted to let you know to keep your phone close.”
But it seemed you sounded the alarms a bit too soon. The same contractions, now two minutes long, still fifteen apart, kept you up until one in the morning. They were helped by some nasty heartburn, no doubt from your ambitious spice level at lunch, but soon enough, they began to subside.
You groaned as you texted Jack.
Don’t say anything to Robby, the contractions have stopped >:(
He’s still an idiot though
At the very least, you had the day off. The last thing anyone needed was you, forty weeks pregnant, and running on five hours of sleep. By the time you woke up, Jack was beside you, snuffling snores.
The third night you felt contractions coming on, you were hardly as excited. You had Jack time them, but, as you expected, they fizzled out around midnight.
Each night, around seven or eight, contractions would start. Then, like clockwork, between the hours of twelve and one, they stopped. You wanted to pop a pill and go to bed, not bothered tracking something that was surely temporary, but Jack insisted.
“You never know when it could be the real deal!”
But it wasn’t the real deal, night after night. You were a zombie at work, snappy and grouchy, so much so that by the time you were forty weeks and five days, you were kicked out.
“You’re gonna regret this, Dana,” you growled as Jack pulled you towards the parking lot. “You’re gonna rue the day!”
With your newfound freedom away from the hospital, you kept up with your activities. Though, not the spicy food. That you’d learned your lesson from. Your days were filled with curb walking, dates, and teas. At least two hours a day you sat on your ball and pumped. You had even had sex every night, though it was hardly sexy. You couldn’t really move, so Jack had to prop up your hips with two pillows. It was helped, however, by Jack himself. You’d never seen the man so insatiable as when you were pregnant.
By the time you made it to your forty-one week appointment, you were itching for progress. You kept your fingers crossed tightly, hoping against hope as Jill performed her exam.
“You’re about one centimeter dilated,” said Jill apologetically.
You let out a helpless cry. Jack rubbed your shoulders.
“It’s still an improvement,” he reminded you.
“And you’ve softened a bit,” said Jill. “Most importantly, you’ve still got a good amount of amniotic fluid, so baby’s okay. I would like to do an NST, just because you’re past due. I’d also just like to offer you induction. It is typically recommended at this point—”
“No thank you,” you said firmly. “I’ve only heard horror stories, uterine ruptures, infection, hemorrhage —”
“I know you know how unlikely those things are, so I won’t tell you,” said Jill gently. “I figured you would say that, but how do you feel about a membrane sweep?”
“Great, amazing, do it now,” you said, and she chuckled.
The membrane sweep was certainly uncomfortable, but not exactly painful. Once it was over, you were strapped in for an NST and Jill tried to reassure you.
“It’ll probably be any day now,” she said. “Hopefully things will progress quickly from here, but if they don’t there are things you can do to help.”
“Curb walking? Spicy foods? Sex? Dates? Yeah, we’ve done them all,” you sighed. “Just tell me — how do I tell the difference between prodromal contractions and real contractions?”
Jill looked regretful.
“Oftentimes, you can’t,” she said. “You just have to keep monitoring, and wait for them to get closer together.”
All in all, it was a blue sort of afternoon. Even a big cookie from your favorite bakery wasn’t able to cheer you up. Upon returning home, you draped yourself over Jack on the couch. He practiced his braiding on you while you watched Law & Order, snacking on dates. You were beginning to become sick of them.
As planned, contractions started rolling in around nine. At first, they were average, easily breathed through. Then, they started to pick up. Not in duration, but in severity. Jack pulled your new braids away from your face as you hunched in on yourself, tense and unfortunately moist.
“Honey?” he asked. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Bad,” you gasped. “Worse.”
“Okay,” he said, stroking your forehead. “Do you want to sit on your ball?”
You managed a nod, so he helped transfer you over to the blue ball. You started moaning, rolling your hips in great circles while he clutched your hands from his seat on the coffee table. As the clock struck half past one, he dared to speak.
“You know, if it’s this bad,” he said quietly, “maybe —”
“Don’t say it,” you snarled. “Don’t even think it.”
You were past the point of foolish hope. Without at five hours of clear, worsening contractions that reached five minutes apart, you weren’t even considering it a possibility. It wasn’t feasible to prepare every single time.
You were proven right, at nearly three in the morning, when the contractions once again quieted down. You could tell that Jack was struggling. The pain in his eyes was hard to ignore as he watched you curl in on yourself in agony. Hopeless, was the word, and it wasn’t helped by his being a doctor.
“Seven days,” he whispered into your hair as you drifted in and out of sleep. “Can’t be more than seven days.”
It definitely felt like more. You were becoming nocturnal, kept awake by contractions that never led anywhere, and sleeping it off well into the afternoon. It was like being back on night shift, but instead of patients, you got debilitating cramps and sweating.
It appeared that the membrane sweep really hadn’t helped, at the next appointment only three days later. You were still only one measly centimeter dilated. You cried all the way home out of pure exhaustion.
Jack did everything he could to try and help. He drew warm baths, gave food rubs, always had the kettle ready for a hot water belt. But even food was becoming uninteresting to you, with nausea and fatigue plaguing you most of your waking hours.
You tried to stay positive when you started losing the mucus plug, even more so when it appeared bloody. You called Jack into the bathroom and shoved your dirty underwear in his face.
“The bloody show?” you said.
“I think so,” he replied.
It was exciting. You tried to let it be exciting. But some part of you must have known deep down that it wasn’t the time quite yet, and the days crept on. Jack finally decided to start his sabbatical when parting in the evening coincided with your cramps. He couldn’t stand to leave you folded over the kitchen table, swaying side to side in a futile attempt to work through the pain.
He had you drinking protein shakes and walking in circles around the apartment, just to get the bare minimum out of the way so you could spend the rest of the time sleeping. You were more like a zombie than a person at that point. You would wake, but you were never alert. You went through the motions, the routines, but without Jack, you wouldn’t have been any more active than a garden snail.
“Jill, you gotta give me something,” you said at your next appointment, just one day before the forty-two week mark.
You looked horrible. Bags under your bloodshot eyes, unwashed hair, barely able to stay upright for exhaustion. Jack wasn’t great either, mostly from pure stress at watching you being put through the wringer. He looked at Jill imploringly. She sighed sympathetically.
“Unfortunately, I believe the only thing I can offer at this point is Pitocin,” she said. “In fact, I think I need to highly recommend it.”
You leaned back against Jack. He swept your hair back and rubbed your shoulders.
“Do you think you’d be open to that now?” he said in a hushed tone.
You huffed weakly.
“I don’t know,” you said. “I — I don’t like it, but I can’t spend another day like this, I really can’t.”
Jack buried his nose in the crown of your head, trying not to lose it.
“How about this,” said Jill delicately. “We make an appointment for tomorrow evening, give you guys the whole day, and if nothing happens, you come in. You’re almost three centimeters, you have made progress this past week, which means the drip probably won’t do anything drastic. We need to speed you along. How does that sound?”
You weren’t ecstatic, but you agreed. You knew it would be dangerous for both you and the baby to stay stagnant for much longer. Still, it wasn’t exactly what you imagined as you ate your last meal in the afternoon the next day. You expected to wake excitedly in the night, and rush to the hospital. That period of “I think this is it” extending into “this is really happening right now.” All elements of surprise were zapped out of your trip to the ward. You weren’t excited, more morose, as you stared gloomily out of the window.
Jack was clearly excited, under the surface. He gripped your leg tightly on the drive, other hand tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. He tried not to show it, though, for you.
“I know this isn’t what you had in mind,” he said as he pulled you out of the car. “But just remember, we’re meeting our baby soon. Right? And then all the pain can be over.”
You took a heavy breath. He loaded up with all the bags. That was at least one good thing about having a planned birth; you could prepare.
“I don’t know,” you said in a glum voice, taking glum steps towards the glum side entrance. “I know he has to come out at some point, but it doesn’t feel real. I think I’ve stopped allowing myself to accept it, after all the false starts.”
You had gone right back to referring to the baby as “he” the past few weeks. Jack didn’t want to talk too much about it, just settled in resolutely to being a boy dad. You had stopped believing in another possibility as well, but it didn’t really bum you out the way it did him.
Jack pressed a kiss to your plump cheek.
“I know,” he said. “But try to believe it, baby. He’ll be in your arms before you know it.”
You grumbled while he let you through the familiar door.
“He better come out fat.”
Jack smiled.
“Yeah? How come?”
“Because he’s gotten so much extra time!” you exclaimed. “He better have been using that to get me some chunky baby rolls.”
Jack just chuckled as the two of you made your slow, painful way through the entrance to the ER. You figured you’d be better to cut through to the staff elevator rather than go in through the civilian entrance up on the OB floor, and you might as well say a quick hello-goodbye to the sorry plebs stuck working.
Indeed, you received quite the strong reaction from the hub as you toddled up.
“Look who it is!” said Dana, immediately encircling you in her arms. “Mom and Dad!”
You snorted as the others gathered round, fussing.
“Look how big you are!
“Can you believe today’s the day?”
“Think pink! Baby Princess is almost here!”
Princess squished your belly carefully, looking intense. After a while, she nodded smugly.
“That’s at least an eight-pounder,” she said happily. “Just like I predicted!”
“Well I should think so,” you said. “Two extra weeks of stealing my nutrients should do that.”
Robby stepped forward, looking exhausted, but he offered you a polite cheek kiss anyways.
“Looking stunning as always, Nurse Abbot,” he said, with a hint of jest in his tone. “The glow is overpowering!”
You fixed him with an unamused stare, and at least a week’s worth of sleep gunk in the corners of your eyes.
“Do you want something from me, Robinavitch?”
“Of course not,” he chided.
“What’s your bet?” you asked suspiciously. “Are you counting on me holding out for another three days or something?”
“Oh, no, no one expected you to go this long,” he said. “However, if the baby comes out with your hair, nine pounds, and a boy, I’ll be very happy.”
You rolled your eyes, and Jack started ushering you away from the mob.
“Goodbye Robby, I hope you lose!” you called behind you.
“Good luck!” said Dana.
“You can do it!” said Mel.
“Bring us a baby girl!” said Princess.
You could only wave halfheartedly as the elevator doors closed.
It was easy to be playfully annoyed at Robby downstairs, or sassy in the car, but the second you stepped into your reserved room, your delivery room, the panic took over. There was a large bed, and a convertible chair for Jack to sleep on, just like you pictured. But they wasted no time in hooking you up to a CEFM, and within the hour, a nurse had shoved a suppository up your vagina. You didn’t feel much like laughing at anything.
“And that’s —”
“Dinoprostone,” the nurse answered your boyfriend, while you tried to adjust. “0.3 milligrams. We’ll start the Pitocin in an hour or two.”
You let out a sigh as she left, pulling at your gown. You weren’t happy. Sitting there, sans underwear, on a Chux pad, waiting with anticipation for what would probably be the most painful, agonizing experience of your life, you felt the walls closing in a bit.
You glanced at the clock above the door. It was almost eight o’clock. Robby and Dana were probably just leaving, and Shen and Samira would be taking over. You soured at the thought that they’d probably be cozy in bed again before you had your baby. Hell, the way things had been going so far, you wouldn’t be surprised if you were barely five centimeters by that point.
“You wanna watch a movie, honey?” Jack asked quietly, watching your sullen face.
You rolled your head to the side so you could see his, though it looked much sweeter. You stroked a hand over his scruff.
“Yeah,” you said forlornly. “Miss Congeniality?”
He nodded diligently and extracted his laptop from one of the bags, setting it up in record time. To both of your surprise, you promptly opened your arms for him to join you on the bed. He did so, moving carefully so as to not upset your gown, or your monitor, or you. You weren’t at the point where you were cursing him or hated the sight of his face. In fact, you quite liked him at that moment. Better to take advantage of it before things progressed and he got the luteal phase side of you.
“I love you,” you said.
He sounded a little taken aback in his reply.
“I love you too, baby.”
You fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt.
“I just needed to remind us both, before I start hating you,” you explained.
“Of course,” he said.
You sat in the quiet for a while, half watching the movie you knew like the back of your hand. Within a few minutes, Jack’s gentle touch and steady breaths coaxed your eyes closed. On the brink of sleep, only one thing nowadays could really bring you back.
“Contraction,” you mumbled, as Gracie threw Matthews into a headlock.
“Do you want to move?” he asked.
“No,” you breathed, letting the now familiar discomfort wash over you. “Just stay.”
“Okay,” he said, pecking your forehead. “I’m right here. You know who else is here for you?”
“Who?”
“Benjamin Bratt,” he said. “Benjamin won’t let you down.”
You hummed, a hint of a smile on your lips as you forced your eyes open. Benjamin Bratt was your lifelong celebrity crush, and your friends had wasted no time pointing out some similarities between him and the father of your child when you’d revealed it.
“Of course he won’t,” you said, stroking a finger down his face on the screen.
As the usual contractions passed, you couldn’t help but feel a bit foolishly disappointed. Some small illogical part of you hoped that the prostaglandins would be enough of a push for your body to ramp it up on its own; but the pains were no different than they had been all week.
At a quarter to ten, Jill came in and checked you.
“Just about three centimeters dilated,” she said, to your agitation, “but about ninety percent effaced, so, progress.”
You huffed. Even your TV husband couldn’t distract you from the fact that you weren’t getting anywhere, no matter the positive spin Jill tried to pull. She didn’t seem to want to mention that you were also “just about three centimeters” the last time she saw you, over twenty-four hours previous.
“So now you start the drip?” you asked, and Jack squeezed your hand.
“Yes, now we start,” she said, while a nurse prepared the bag to hang. “Just a low dose, and then if nothing happens, we can gradually increase it. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” you said, through gritted teeth.
She provided you with a peanut ball to put between your legs and then you were left in wait. Jack rubbed your back and instructed your deep breathing, while you tried to focus on the screen and not the pain.
To your brief respite, the pitocin didn’t intensify the contractions the way you expected them to. After an hour of absolutely zero action, Jill upped the dosage. Still, while they grew closer together, they felt no different. You could breathe through them quite well, and even talk if you felt determined. Maybe you had a high threshold, maybe you were desensitized after all the sleepless nights, maybe it was a bit of both, but what ended up nagging you the most was the hunger.
“Jackie,” you whispered between contractions, around midnight.
“What, baby?” he whispered back, though you were alone in the dark room.
“Can you go get me a soft pretzel?”
He stopped sponging your sweaty forehead, eyes narrowed in amusement.
“A soft pretzel?”
You nodded innocently.
“With plenty yellow mustard, please.”
He rang the washcloth out over the basin, looking half humorous, half distressed.
“Honey, I don’t think —”
“And a hotdog!” you interjected, eyes going wide. “Just get one of every condiment, actually. And I’m picturing a soft serve in a hat. Chocolate vanilla swirl. Okay?”
He wiped his damp hands off on a clean towel and cradled your face.
“Sweetheart, I will get you all of that and more,” he said earnestly, “just as soon as this baby’s outta you.”
“Oh, okay,” you sniffed. “So you don’t love me anymore. I get it.”
It was such a ridiculous notion, he couldn’t help laughing. You tried to smile back, but your face was suddenly crumpled in discomfort as another contraction hit you. Jack checked his watch, then the monitor.
“Five minutes,” he said desperately. “They’re getting closer together, honey. We’re moving.”
“They’re fine,” you hissed. “They’re only, like, double the pain of a bad period. It’s no big deal.”
Jack sent you a look you couldn’t see.
“Your periods get this bad?” he asked in horror. “Even half this bad? How do you get anything done?”
You couldn’t answer, just shook your head, as if to say what are you gonna do?
There wasn’t much, but damn it if Jack wasn’t going to try.
“You wanna try some massages?” he asked. “Some from lamaze class?”
You shook your head again.
“Okay… how about the birthing comb Perlah gave you?”
You didn’t immediately dismiss it, so he quickly dug into the bag and pulled it out. You opened your hand and he lined the teeth up with the crease of your palm. You squeezed hard. He watched you closely.
You took some deep breaths, massaging the bamboo tines into your tissue. Jack allowed himself some breaths as well, seeing the line between your brows soften a bit. He’d never dare complain after the weeks you’d had, but his brain felt a bit like a wrung out sponge. He could deal with sleep deprivation, he almost thrived on sleep deprivation, but seeing you, in agony, so exhausted you could barely eat a full meal? That was wearing down on him.
“Wait, what time is it?” you said suddenly. “Is it past midnight?”
Jack glanced at his wrist again.
“Closer to one,” he said, “why?”
Your lips turned down a bit.
“Nothing,” you sighed. “It’s just that… Ronan is a Scorpio.”
Jack glanced at his phone with befuddlement.
“Is that bad?” he asked. “Wait, aren’t I a Scorpio?”
“Yes,” you said. “Which is fine, it’s great, but now you’re both Scorpios. Scorpio men.”
He waited for you to explain, but you didn’t, so he just gave you a confused apology kiss.
When the contractions got to be three minutes apart, Jill came in to have a look.
“How are we holding up?” she asked, snapping on gloves, while Jack helped you place your feet in the stirrups. “Contractions manageable?”
“Oh, yeah, they’re great,” you deadpanned. “I’m loving how they’re basically back to back now. Real fun.”
“Well,” she said, looking sorry, “you’re still only almost five centimeters, and we’d like you to be closer to seven.”
You guffawed.
“Of course I am,” you croaked, rubbing your tired eyes. “Not even five, almost five, for fuck’s sake.”
“We are moving, hun, just slowly,” she said, patting your knee. “We’re going to break the waters now, though, and things should pick up after that.”
You nodded flatly, unconvinced, at that point, that anything could possibly speed things up. It was mildly uncomfortable as Jill stuck the amnihook up to your sore cervix, but a second later, you felt a small pop and a sudden gush of fluid. You craned your head up to peer over your bump.
“Is that it?” you asked. “It’s broken?”
“That was it,” said Jill, handing the soiled hook and pads off to a nurse. “Now, you’ll probably continue to leak as the baby moves, so we’ll keep this Chux here under you, and don’t be surprised if things pick up quick. Most times mothers start pushing within hours of the amniotomy.”
“Bet I’m an exception to the rule,” you muttered darkly.
However, despite your pessimistic attitude, things did pick up. Quickly, and painfully. In comparison, the early labor felt like child’s play once you had experienced the stabbing sensation that trapped you now. You watched the sunrise from the window, bent at a ninety degree angle with your arms on the sill. You were no longer cracking jokes; you let out rhythmic moans, while Jack squeezed your hips together.
“Let it out,” he said quietly. “You’re doing so good. So, so good, baby.”
You still clutched the comb in your hands, but any effect it had had earlier was now lost. You were slick with sweat and shaking. As the contraction leveled out, you took great, heaving breaths.
“I think I’m gonna puke,” you breathed, and Jack jumped up.
He guided you back to the bed so your weak knees could collapse, and held a bag up to your mouth. You spit into it, that familiar metallic taste flooding your tongue as you prepared. It was mostly bile that came up as you retched, with no food left in your rumbling stomach. When you were done, you sat back on your bum and braced your arms in front of you.
“I’m never… doing… this again,” you panted.
“Okay, love,” said Jack, adjusting your hair where he had tied it back the first time you’d vomited. “You never have to.”
Did he want more kids? Yes. But more importantly, he wanted you happy and safe. If you said you were done, you were done. Besides, he’d be lying if he said he would be up to seeing you in this much pain again. He kissed your warm cheek.
“I need the epidural,” you said. “Can we get that?”
Jack had never moved faster in his life. Once Jill was free, and you were back in position, she checked you.
“Seven centimeters,” she said. “Very good.”
“Yes,” you gasped. “Thank you universe.”
Jack all but crushed your hand between his.
“She was wondering about the epidural —”
“Certainly,” said Jill. “We can absolutely get anesthesiology in here, but I should remind you, it could very possibly slow down your progression. Is that a trade you’d be willing to make?”
They both looked at you. You felt about ready to cry. You were finally getting somewhere, would an epidural be setting you up for another twelve hours?
But in the end, you knew, you wouldn’t be able to get through birth without a couple hours of good sleep under your belt. So, you agreed to see the doctor.
It was definitely the right choice, you thought, once the drugs kicked in. Feeling the numbness spread through you was like going to sleep after a double, or sinking into a hot bath in winter time. The relief was palpable.
“Oh my god,” you moaned. “Oh my god, I had forgotten what it was like to not have contractions.”
Jack was relieved too, watching you munch on ice chips, eyes closed.
“You should get some sleep,” he said, stroking your forehead between your eyes. “You need rest.”
“So do you,” you said. “Hey — have you taken your leg off at all since we’ve been here?”
He thought. He had been far too preoccupied with you to notice the dull ache radiating up his right knee. He shrugged, but you were already back to your sass, however sluggishly.
“It’s almost been twenty-four hours, Jack Abbot,” you reprimanded. “Take it off and get in bed.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said lovingly.
He had to admit, it was a relief in its own right, removing the leg and the socks. He hadn’t even realized how much it had been bothering him, but you had always been on top of those things, the things he let fall to the back burner. Just like how he reminded you to eat on stressful days, or prepared hot water bottles when you were on your period. You looked out for each other.
Pulling his other shoe off, he carefully crawled into bed next to you, engulfing you in his arms. You weren’t sure how long you slept. All you knew was that upon waking, Jill was between your legs for a check.
As she covered you back up with the blanket, she could barely contain her smile.
“Ten centimeters. Are you ready to have a baby?”
♡♡♡
You’d thought, somehow, foolishly, that the pushing would be easy compared to the weeks of torture. Especially with the epidural keeping you almost completely numb, how could it be worse?
But now you were approaching your third hour of pushing, and they still couldn’t even see the baby’s head. The pain was barely an afterthought, but every upper muscle in your body was tense and tight from repeated use, and you were running out of energy.
You had Jack holding up one leg, a nurse holding the other, and a third person out of sight was wiping your forehead. You had had to ask, or scream at, someone to remove the ticking clock from above the door. Your eyes kept drifting towards it, and your heart filled with more and more despair as the minutes slid by.
“C’mon, honey, one more push,” Jack was chanting next to you, holding your thigh flush against your chest. “One more, you can do it!”
You fell back against him with a harsh cry as the contraction subsided. Perspiration was dripping down your flushed face, and you were panting like you’d just finished a sprint.
“I can’t,” you gasped. “I can’t do this any more. It’s not working.”
“The baby is moving,” said Jill from the other side of your bump. “They’re taking their time, but you’re doing really, really well, okay? Keep going, we should be seeing a head soon.”
“Did you hear that?” said Jack soothingly. “It’ll be over soon. You’re so close.”
You felt so close to slipping into sleep, and yet possibly less comfortable than you ever had been before. You felt your eyes beginning to sting. Maybe it was a good sign; throughout everything, you still hadn’t shed a tear. Could the cracks in your exterior mean this was almost at an end? Or were you really ready to give up?
“Here comes the next contraction,” said Jill. “Ready?”
“Big breath,” said Nurse Marta. “Chin to chest — good…”
You bared down with all your might, and the pressure was building.
“Hard, hard hard hard!” said Jill. “Good job, mom! I can just barely glimpse the head.”
Jack pressed a flurry of kisses to your knee, and if your eyes were open you would have seen his already beginning to tear.
“Oh my god,” you muttered as that contraction too passed.
“Can I see?” he asked cautiously. “The head, can I try to see?”
“We lost sight when she relaxed,” said Jill, eyes glued to the monitor. “But on the next contraction, we should begin to crown.”
“Okay,” he said breathlessly. “Okay, one more, and we find out who wins, Robby or Princess, right?”
“Better be Princess,” you grumbled.
You ran a limp hand over Jack’s curls.
“You’ll catch him, right?” you said. “When he comes out?”
“Yeah, baby, of course, I’ll be right there,” he said. “I promise. I mean, I love Jill, but —”
You almost laughed, or got as close to it as you possibly could with how winded you were. Jill spoke up, smirking slightly herself.
“Okay, about twenty seconds to the next contraction,” she said. “And I need you to really push hard, okay? Hard as you can.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?”
“Alright,” she chuckled, “ready? Go.”
You pushed, and pushed, and pushed. All the blood rushed to your head, and your grip in Jack’s hair only tightened, accidentally bumping his chin against your knee, but he didn’t say anything. It was kind of funny — you were usually in a very different place when you did that.
“You’re so good, you’re so so good, honey,” Jack muttered quickly, unable to keep himself from peering over to watch. “Good, good, you’re so strong, you” — his breath stuttered — “I see the head! Oh, it’s red, the hair — Ronan —”
You let out a strangled sort of sound, half laugh, half cry.
“We’re crowning, I’m gonna need you to stop pushing,” said Jill. “Okay, stop pushing, and breathe, alright? Pant, deep and fast —”
You began to feel a bit lightheaded as you followed her instructions.
“Okay, now push again — good — and relax.”
You groaned, arms shaking and jumping all over the place. Hesitantly, you removed a hand from Jack’s hair.
“Can I feel?”
“Of course,” said Jill. She took your trembling hand and guided it down. “Feel the hair?”
That was it. That was the little push those tears needed to begin leaking from your eyes. It was the most bizarre feeling, not being able to sense touch against your own legs, but knowing that the head you felt was part of you this second. And the next, it would be separate. A whole little human.
“There’s a lot, huh?” said Jack in a wavery voice.
“Jack, if you want to catch, now’s the time,” said Jill, holding out a packet of sterile gloves. “You ready?”
He snapped them on in record time, though was reluctant to leave your immediate side.
“I’m right here,” he said, both for you and for him. “I’m still here next to you.”
“I know,” you said, taking up the hand of the nurse that replaced him.
“Push, mama, push,” Jill chanted from over Jack’s shoulder, watching carefully as he cradled the emerging head.
“You’re doing amazing!” said Jack, fully crying now. “Keep going!”
You did. By the end of the minute, the head was all the way out.
“I see him, I see him!” said Jack frantically. “He’s coming! One more push, just one!”
“Tell me what’s happening, okay?” you asked. “I wanna know.”
“Okay, honey.”
Your nurses pushed you up. It was time for the final contraction. Or, what would hopefully be the final contraction.
“Push!”
You put all your remaining strength behind that last push, tears now joined in the sweat running down your cheeks.
“Here come the shoulders,” said Jack. “Good job! Okay, great job, honey, they’re coming — okay, one, and — c’mon, Ronan, you can do it — c’mon — okay, yes! Yes, yes, yes, so good, okay, and the little arms, and the belly, and —”
There was a sudden release of pressure, and almost immediately, a sharp, strong cry rent the air. You were sobbing in earnest now, but still Jack held onto your baby while they wailed. You couldn’t see them, but you could see his face, transfixed, unmoving. You didn’t like the look. Worry began to creep in.
“What?” you asked wetly. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”
“It’s” — Jack’s breath caught in his throat — “it’s a girl! It’s a baby girl.”
Your anxiety cleared, and you sighed in relief, a full body shudder as he gingerly lifted the little baby, your daughter, to your chest. Your eyes were as wide as his were, staring in awe at the little creature on your bosom.
“Hi,” you whispered, while Jill rubbed her vigorously with a cloth. “Hi, baby. You’re here.”
Jack, now gloveless, and hysterical, wrapped his arms around the both of you. Her whole tiny head was covered in sticky but unmistakable dark red hair. And it seemed Santos was right — she did have her dad’s nose. His everything, really.
“Isadora,” Jack said reverently through his tears. “You’re perfect.”
“You got your girl,” you said to Jack, eyes not parting from your Izzy for one second.
“Everyone’s gonna freak,” he said, stroking her head.
It wasn’t until later, with the cord clamped and cut, the placenta delivered, and the postpartum room moved into, you realized.
“Wait,” you said, watching Isadora curl sleepily into her father’s bare chest. “I just remembered something.”
“Way to go, Izzy,” he said. “First hour on earth, and you’re already beating Uncle Robby’s ass, huh? Atta girl. Just wait til you play him at hockey. He sucks.”
Your eyes, which had never fully dried, were beginning to tear up again. You knew it was to be expected with your hormones out of whack, but he was just holding her, for christ’s sake.
“C’mere,” you said lazily, beckoning him towards your bed. “You wanna call him up? Gloat in his face? I kinda do.”
“Nah,” said Jack calmly, settling in at your side. “I think for now it should just be me and my girls.”
You were sent home the next day, with an appointment for Izzy in the books and relatively minimal soreness, considering. Izzy was quickly proving herself to be a good eater, and a good sleeper.
“There we go, honey,” Jack cooed at her, setting her down in your arms. “All fed, all burped, all changed.”
He perched on the arm of your nursing chair. For once, it was exactly as you pictured. The breeze through the open window making the dragonflies fly, Jack by your side, and a little red haired baby resting in the green and yellow nursery.
Summary: You've managed to keep your relationship and family with Dr. Jack Abbot private from his work for an entire decade. But your last pregnancy doesn't seem to care about that as you get brought to PTMC for an emergency delivery.
Tags/Notes: wife/mom reader, pregnant reader, domestic fluff, big family, secret family trope, cast shenanigans, kid fic, uhhh this is also a hucklerobby fic, inaccurate medicine/doctor google
Content: preeclampsia/HELLP syndrome leading to emergent c-section (not graphic or intense, genre is definitely fluff)
A/N: i literally started writing this randomly at 10am and then wrote 6.4k words and now it's 3:30 i've never been so 'i blacked out and here's this' for some reason idk i really love this fic
Word Count: 6.4k
You’ve managed to keep your relationship with Dr. Jack Abbot private for an entire decade. The only person at the hospital who knows you and your kids even exist is Robby and he’s agreed to respect Jack’s boundaries. Jack made it clear from day one when you started dating: He needs to keep the hospital at the hospital and his home at home. Otherwise, they start to bleed into each other.
And you really don’t mind. The two of you have plenty of friends from your cozy family-oriented neighborhood, the hot yoga class you go to together, and your kids’ daycare and schools. Jack comes home on time fully present and never agrees to be on-call. He prioritizes you and the kids over everything. He tells you all about the hospital and the people he works with, but it’s a footnote in your life, not a main plot. It might not be conventional for most doctors’ wives who turn the hospital into a member of the family, but it works well for the gaggle of Abbots.
Speaking of which, on a lovely late July morning, you decide it’s a good day for the farmer’s market and park with the whole gang. Jack keeps trying to insist you spend the perfect, glorious summer inside because he always worries too much when you’re pregnant. But, having been pregnant for roughly four of the last eight years, you’re pretty sure you know what you’re doing at this point. This morning you woke up in fairly minimal pain for being 32 weeks pregnant with twins, all the kids are in a good mood, and the weather is absolutely ideal. So, a few hours after Jack heads to the hospital, you tell everyone the plan.
Half an hour of getting-ready chaos ensues. You put on a sundress for the hell of it and then help seven-year-old Sam braid her short hair into pigtails. Her hair’s turning darker these days, growing out from the bright red all your kids have been born with. She puts on her favorite floral romper and picks out a matching onesie for her one-year-old sister Amelia while you grab clothes for the boys. Five-year-old Max will only wear dinosaur tees at the moment, so that’s what he gets, and four-year-old Mikey wants to wear one, too, so they end up devastatingly cute in matching shirts and matching chaotic curls they refuse to let you brush today.
Once you’ve packed up way too much stuff, you settle Amelia in her stroller, hand the diaper bag to Samantha, who loves playing second mom despite your worries about parentification, and take your pregnant ass outside to enjoy the sunshine. Max lingers close to your side like always, watching out for any cracks in the sidewalk so you don’t trip since he’s such a mama’s boy. His shadow Mikey holds his hand at your insistence.
The farmer’s market is only two blocks from your house, so it’s an easy walk. The stalls take up one half of the park and the other is full of families and couples. After a week of feeling sick, you start to feel more like a person underneath the warm sun. You give Sam $20 and tell her to get whatever she wants while staying where you can see her. Meanwhile, you find breakfast treats for the other kids. Mikey will eat anything, so you get him an egg and bacon pastry thing that you know he’ll devour. Max is picky, but he always wants to eat what you eat, which means you choose a veggie breakfast burrito with some mild peppers and tomatoes to push him just a bit to expand his palette. Amelia’s still mostly breastfeeding, but you grab a pint of strawberries she’ll nibble at. You also grab a loaf of chocolate chip banana bread for everyone to get a sweet bite of. Sam meets back up with you holding a cinnamon roll the size of her head and, to appease you, a small container of grapes.
With Mikey’s ‘help,’ you spread out your favorite thick flannel picnic blanket that’s been with your family through countless July 4th fireworks and Labor Day cookouts. You lock the stroller, slowly and carefully sit down on the ground with the kids, and settle Amelia between your legs. Everyone eats while you bask in the sun, only half-listening to them pointing out puppies running by or particularly interesting clouds. Max even manages to eat his third of the burrito without complaint, though he’s definitely more attracted to the sweets. Sam plays peek-a-boo with Amelia. You get to spend one of those rare, perfect minutes just feeling grateful for the life you’ve managed to put together.
The only thing that would make it better is Jack’s presence, but the best you can do right now is snap a picture of the kids contentedly hanging out together, your bump at the bottom of the frame, and send it his way. You’ve managed to catch him on a break, so you’re pleased to see the dots appear right away.
Hubby: Beautiful day for my beautiful family. Farmer’s market?
Yep, I even got you some banana bread.
Hubby: You take such good care of me. Make sure to take care of yourself out there, though. It’s hot out today.
I know, baby. I’m literally outside. With my bottle of ice water. And my misting fan thing. Dressed appropriately for the weather. Worry wart.
Hubby: God forbid I watch out for my heavily pregnant wife.
Hubby: I have to get back; multi-vehicle crash about to come in.
Hubby: Love you all so much.
You announce to the kids, “Daddy says he loves you.”
A moment later, you text him: I love you, Jackie. Sam and Max say they love you back, too. Mikey would like to inquire if you want an acorn and a roly poly from him when you get home. Amelia just thinks it’s almost boob time.
Hubby: Yes to the acorn, no to the bug.
Hubby: And save some boob time for daddy later.
Pervert. Love you again.
Hubby: Love you again again.
As you tuck your phone away, the boys ask to go to the nearby playground on the other side of the park, so you haul yourself back up and head that way. While they sprint off, Mikey managing to keep up with his big brother somehow, Sam picks up her sister and kisses her chubby cheek and asks, “Can we go to the swings? They have the bucket ones for babies here.”
“Sure, stinker, that’ll be fun.”
She smiles wide and you waddle behind her to the swing set, making sure to choose a position where you can still watch the boys. Max has always been sensitive and small while Mikey’s already a spitfire who likes to play rough, so you keep a close eye on them. You hadn’t meant to have another baby so soon after Max was born, but now you’re glad to have your boys so close in age. Hopefully Amelia will bond with her new siblings the same way, but, if not, she’ll always be Sam’s mini-me. You watch her shrieking out giggles as Sam gently swings her back and forth. You can’t resist taking another picture to send to Jack for whenever he’s out of the weeds.
A while later, Amelia starts fussing and you heft her out of the swing. Sam observes, “I think she’s ready for her brunch now.”
“Good call. Just hang onto her for a sec and I’ll get set up.” You’re collecting your breastfeeding supplies from the stroller when the world starts to tilt and spin. You swallow hard and reach for the bench to steady yourself. “Sam, I’m feeling kinda dizzy; can you get your brothers back over here so we can all sit down for a minute?”
“Sure, let me just-”
And then you’re seeing spots before your vision goes black.
Two EMTs roll a gurney in from the ambulance bay and one of them hollers, “I’m gonna need some babysitters out here ASAP! I’ve got a passed-out pregnant mom with four kids under seven in tow.”
Dana’s head snaps up from the nurse’s station and she scans the board. She calls out, “Whitaker, go play house for a while. Take them up to pedes; they’ve got games in the waiting room.” Then she trains her eyes on the EMT as Dr. Santos takes over the crashing patient and demands, “Why the hell didn’t you call social services?”
“The seven-year-old kept saying her dad works at the hospital.” He shrugs, shrinking under her serious expression. “I figured he was here and could watch them. They followed in a second ambulance, so it wasn’t scary for them or anything. We’re supposed to get a hold of the other parent first.”
She presses, “And did you get him on the phone?”
“Well, no, but-”
Her glare only strengthens. “Then you’re supposed to call social services for a representative to watch the kids while they locate him or another trusted party so that my damn medical students don’t have to stop working to babysit.” She looks over at said student, though, and softens. Dennis had a hard day and he’s lighting up as he entertains the mess of auburn- and red-headed kids, who seem surprisingly unbothered, considering. With a huff, Dana tells him, “Get back out there. We’ve got it.”
“Thank you; you’re the best.”
“Don’t I know it.” She hustles across the ED with some orders to her nurses and joins Trinity by the gurney, where the patient is unconscious but hooked up to fluids and wearing an oxygen mask. Abbot and Robby are elbows deep in a multi-vehicle collision on the other side of the planet, so it’s on Dana to keep track of the ducklings as they manage the less-urgent cases on their own. This is starting to look urgent, though, with spiking blood pressure and no signs of regaining consciousness. Trinity’s got a portable ultrasound on her bump as Dana asks, “What have you got?”
Trinity’s eyes go to hers and she can see the stress in them. “Definitely sudden-onset preeclampsia. EMT said she was vomiting in the ambulance going in and out of consciousness, complained of a headache and vision issues. Shortness of breath, now, too. I think she’s got HELLP.”
“Page OB,” Dana orders, firm and confident. “Looks like we’re gonna need a C-section here. Go talk to the kids; we need to find their dad ASAP. Apparently he works in the hospital. Whitaker took the whole crew up to pedes.”
Trinity nods and scurries off while Dana flags down a more experienced resident to take over. Up in pediatrics, Dennis is sitting on the floor playing with two little boys at an activity table while a slightly older girl holds a baby who looks just like her behind him on the couch. She rushes over and Whitaker looks up with relief in his eyes. “Can you watch them for a minute? I have to pee so bad.”
“No problem, huckleberry,” she replies with a grimace. He practically sprints out of there. She’s not good with kids and she doesn’t like them, but sometimes it’s part of the job. Sitting on the couch next to the oldest kid, she says, “My name’s Dr. Santos and I’m helping take care of your mom. What’s your name?”
“Sam,” she says quietly, nervously bouncing her little sister on her knee. “Is mom okay?”
“She’s still with the doctors downstairs, but they gave me a very important mission to talk to you first thing.”
She wrinkles her brows in a way that strikes Trinity as familiar for some reason. “An important mission?”
“It’s my job to find your dad,” Trinity informs her seriously. “Now, I need your help to do that. He works here at the hospital, right? What’s your full name, Sam?”
“Samantha Elise Abbot. My initials are S-E-A like the ocean.”
“That’s really cool,” Santos replies as she starts to scribble it down on her notepad, not yet thinking it through. “Is that Abbot with one T or two? You know what’s funny? We actually have a doctor down in the emergency department who- Oh, fuck.”
One of the younger boys whips around and informs her with a frown, “That’s a naughty word.”
“Yes,” she squeaks, “yes, it is. You should never, ever say it.” Nausea rolls through her body and she starts to go pale as she pieces together hooded hazel eyes and wild curly hair and charming crooked teeth. As she imagines the unconscious, decompensating pregnant patient down in the ER. Trying to appear calm and neutral through the anxiety, she smiles at Sam again and asks, “Do you know your daddy’s first name? It’ll be easy for me to look him up and get him for your mom.”
Sam nods and tells her, “Jack Abbot. Two Bs, one T.”
“That’s really good, thank you,” Santos replies, the words coming out sort of like a whimper. When she spots Dennis heading back from the bathroom, she gives Sam a squeeze on the knee and says, “Someone’s gonna come up and talk to you as soon as they can, okay? Ask Dr. Whitaker to show you the good vending machine; it has gummy worms.”
Then she’s running back to the stairs, fast enough that she gets yelled at by a passing nurse.
Dana shoots her hand out when Trinity goes to sprint by. “No running in the ED; you know that.”
Trinity doubles over to hold her knees as she catches her breath for a second. “It’s- it’s-”
“You found the dad?”
“Getting him now,” she wheezes back. “It’s Dr. Abbot. Their dad.”
“What?!” Dana's heart starts to pound as she reevaluates her entire eight-year career with Jack. Hell, she's known him longer than one of those kids has been alive. “Dr. Abbot has four kids?”
“Six,” Trinity corrects, standing back up straight. “Mom’s about to have twins.”
“Okay, shit. Wow.” She shoos Santos toward the bays and urges, “Trauma three. Maybe some running in the ER. Just this once.”
And Trinity’s gone again, thankful that her mom made her do track in high school. The trauma bay is pure chaos, with Jack and Robby at the center of it. Trinity takes a deep breath, clears her throat, and shouts in her bravest voice, “Dr. Abbot, can I speak to you, please?”
Rolling his eyes, Jack’s hands follow behind Robby’s, deep in an abdominal cavity. “Kind of busy here, Santos.”
She bites her lip and urges, “It’s important. Really important. I cannot possibly stress enough how important.”
He discards used packing and grabs a scalpel from the tray that King’s keeping clean and stocked for him. “Spit it out then, Jesus!”
On the verge of tears, Trinity rushes out, “Your wife lost consciousness and was brought to the hospital by ambulance presenting with preeclampsia and likely HELLP and she’s being prepped for an emergency C-section by Walsh and Langdon right now and all your kids are up in the pediatrics waiting room with Whitaker.”
Everyone freezes.
One, two, three breaths pass.
The scalpel in Jack’s hand clatters to the ground and the sound sends everyone back into motion, Robby resuming the procedure right away as he tells Jack, “Go. Now.” To the closest nurse, he says, “Page Shen; see if he can come in to cover.”
Jack steps back from the patient, gloved hands in the air, and says in a strained voice, “Javadi, step in for Mel. Dr. King, take over my position.”
Her eyes widen. “But I’ve never done a-”
Robby grunts on Jack’s behalf, “You’re already scrubbed. It’s a teaching hospital; I’ll teach you.”
She swallows hard and steps forward as Robby gives her rapid-fire orders. “Okay. Okay, I've got this.”
Jack takes another stride back and turns to Santos. “Help me.”
Immediately, she breaks his gown’s ties and tugs it away from him, helping to peel off his gloves at the same time. He pulls off his face shield, shoves it into Trinity’s waiting arms, and starts washing his hands hard, fast, and thorough. "Do you know anything else about her situation, Santos?"
"Um, no, not yet. We paged OB as soon as we suspected preeclampsia and brought in a more senior doctor."
"Got it. Which surgical suite?"
She frantically checks her pager and answers, "Six."
"Stick by my side; you can scrub in."
"Wait, really?"
"You need to observe an emergent c-section, don't you?"
"Um, yes, but-"
"Let's go, kid."
Robby hollers to him, “When I finish here, I’ll get a status report, talk to all the kids, and take them home, alright? Just focus on your girl and the babies. I've got them."
Jack nods gruffly and follows Trinity out. Mel stammers, “All his kids? Babies? Plural? What the hell is-”
“Dr. Abbot has four kids and two on the way – very imminently, apparently. Fuck, they aren’t due for seven more weeks.” As the patient’s blood pressure starts to drop, Robby takes a deep, steadying breath and makes everyone else do the same. “Focus up, everyone. I know you’re all surprised, but we’ve still got a patient to take care of here. Let’s do this.”
An hour later, Robby hands things off to Shen, changes into his regular clothes, and takes the elevator up to pediatrics once he has the update from OB. He leans his head against the cool metal and sips his water. He’s grateful it’s Dennis watching them and not any of the other doctors because he definitely needs the hug and warm kiss that he gets greeted with as soon as he’s upstairs.
Whitaker brushes the side of Robby’s face with his thumb and then squeezes his arm. “What are you doing up here?”
Robby sighs heavily and nods toward the kids. “Mom’s got HELLP. They’re starting an emergency c-section soon.”
“Shit, alright. Have they found the dad yet?”
“Ah, yes, they have,” Robby replies hesitantly. Whitaker’s been his boyfriend for six months now and it was inevitable that he’d have to be let in on the Abbot family secret if things are going to continue, but Robby wasn’t prepared for it to be under these circumstances. “And a trusted adult is going to take the kids home and watch them until the extended family can get in from Philadelphia.”
“Okay, that’s good. What do I tell them? I’ve never had to-”
The four-year-old Dennis has been wrangling careens into Robby’s legs before Dennis can finish speaking. He reaches up for the Chief Attending with greedy grabby hands, squealing out, “Uncle Wobby!”
Robby cringes a bit, knowing that this is the moment his best friend’s been trying to avoid as long as he’s known him and that he’s not here for good news. But he can’t resist those wide green eyes and that gap-toothed smile for more than five seconds. He bends down and hoists the little kid into his arms like it’s second nature, groaning a bit because he’s getting way too old for this. “There's my Mikey boy!”
Even as his mind reels, struggling to process, Dennis has to admit his heart clenches up a bit watching his boyfriend with a little kid. “Wait, how do you know- Mikey? Like Michael? Robvinavitch? Like-”
Then the baby girl whines for Robby’s attention, still sitting on her sister’s legs but squirmy now, and Robby closes the space between them. He plops down on the couch next to Sam and lets Amelia crawl into his lap as Mikey squeezes himself between his sister and Robby.
Robby picks up the tiniest Abbot and coos, “And there’s sweet Melly Belly, oh my goodness, what a lucky day for me.” He plants a kiss on Mikey’s thick red hair as he settles Amelia on his chest and says, “I heard your mom's here; are you all okay?” Mikey just shrugs, so Robby looks over at the oldest expectantly, “Sammy? You four doing alright?”
She nods and tells him proudly, “Mom said she felt dizzy, so I helped her sit down on the bench, I poked the closest grownup I could find, and I told the ambulance guys that my daddy works at PTMC.”
He ruffles her short hair and praises, “Good job, kiddo. You did exactly the right thing.”
“And Denny gave us snacks,” Mikey adds, presenting a half-eaten Snickers. “I’m saving this part for mommy.”
“That’s really thoughtful, champ, but I think it’s gonna melt.”
Mikey shrugs and decides to eat it himself.
Max, who seems particularly small right now, looks up at Robby with eyes full of tears he’s been trying not to let fall. “Can we see mommy and daddy soon?”
“Not until tomorrow, bud, but we can FaceTime them tonight before bed,” he replies gently.
He guides Mikey back to the floor, where he immediately returns to the tabletop puzzle thing, spreading his chocolatey fingers around. Dennis sighs and excuses himself to grab wipes from the pedes nurses. Max crawls up on Robby’s other side, tucking under his arm and burying his face in the navy hoodie.
Robby hugs him close and soothes, “I bet it was scary seeing your mommy like that and having to come to the hospital. You’re all being really brave.”
Max nods and sniffles. In a tiny muffled shaky voice, he asks, “Is she okay?”
Robby glances over at Dennis, seeing the questions in his eyes as he cleans off Mikey’s hands and the activity table. Robby says, “C’mere, gang, let’s talk about what’s going on with your mom.” The kids circle up with anxious wide eyes and he explains, “Your mom got all dizzy today because of this thing with a big long name that means her heart started working too hard. The babies aren’t crazy about her heart drumming right on their heads, so the doctors are gonna take them out in a few minutes so they can get some peace and quiet.”
Mikey’s mouth drops open. “Babies today?”
“Babies today,” Robby confirms, trying to keep his tone light so they don’t realize just how much of an emergency it is.
Sam frowns at that, though, thinking through it. “Dad said the babies wouldn’t be here until school starts. It’s not even August. Is it okay for them to come now instead? They’re still really little, aren’t they?”
“They’re gonna be small, yeah, but your mom’s been pregnant for 32 weeks, and that’s actually a pretty safe time for babies to be born.” He swallows hard and tells her, “They’re gonna have to stay here for a while after – probably a month – so the doctors can help them get bigger outside of mommy, though. But you’ll be able to come visit them soon.”
Max tugs his sleeve. “What about mommy? Is she gonna die?”
Sam shoves him on the arm and hisses, “Don’t say that!”
“It’s okay to ask, Sammy,” Robby replies gently. “Because she got right to the hospital, she should be okay. She’s gonna need probably a week here to get better. They’re taking out the babies in a surgery, so she has to heal from that and we have to make sure her heart’s okay.”
Sam asks, “That’s called a c-section, right?”
Robby gives her a tired smile and nods. “Good work, kid. It’s short for ‘Caesarian,’ like Caesar.”
“The Roman guy?”
“That’s the one. You’re already smarter than your dad, huh?”
She nods, self-satisfied, and asks, “Are you staying at our house tonight?”
“Yeah, I took the rest of the day off to hang out with my favorite nieces and nephews.” He explains further, “Your Grandma and Grandpa Abbot and Aunt Gracie are gonna come stay with you guys while the babies are waiting to go home.”
Mikey perks up. “Gramma and grampa?”
“That’s right, champ. Someone’s about to swimming in candy and pocket change.”
“Hell yeah.”
“Michael!” Sam gawks at him. “Dad told you to stop saying that.”
“Dad’s not here,” he replies, sing-songy.
She points out, “Uncle Robby’s here.”
“Wobby doesn’t care about bad words. Wight, Wobby?”
Robby gives Mikey’s shoulder a squeeze and, since it’s a hard day, replies, “Hell no, I don’t. At least not the…less-bad one.”
Dennis scoffs. “You’re a good influence, aren’t you?”
“Someone’s gotta be the cool uncle,” Robby replies with a shrug. Amelia starts to sniffle against his shoulder and he asks Sam, “When did your mom last feed her?”
“She was about to at the park when she passed out.”
“Shit, alright. I bet you’re getting very hungry, munchkin.” Robby stands up, shoulders the diaper bag, and settles the baby in the crook of his arm. He gestures for the other kids to follow. “Let’s get home; your mom’s got breast milk in the fridge.”
Tentatively, Dennis touches Robby’s bicep and asks, “Can I come help, too? Four kids to one gay uncle seems like a tough ratio.”
“Sounds great.” Robby grins at him and says, “Crash course for when we have our own?”
“You do look awfully cute holding a baby.”
With all the kids sound asleep, Dennis shakes his head as he runs his fingers through Robby’s chest hair while they snuggle in the Abbots’ ridiculously comfortable guest room. “You have a whole human being named after you and you didn’t tell me.”
“Blame Jack,” Robby replies, turning another page of his book. “If I had it my way, I’d keep a picture of that kid in my wallet and show him to every person I met. I delivered him in the bed of my truck; that’s why they named him after me.”
Dennis straightens up and laughs. “Seriously? How the hell did that happen?”
“Kid was way overdue, but she absolutely insisted we all go to her family’s Labor Day cookout thing out on the lake.” Robby laughs and closes the book to tell him, “Her water broke while we were driving. The third baby tends to come pretty fast from there and Jack was a nervous wreck. Had Mikey in my arms before the ambulance even showed up.”
Dennis hums contentedly, “That’s incredible. You’re a super uncle.”
“They’re all my godchildren, by the way.” He nudges Dennis gently, slings an arm around him, and adds lightly, “Guess I should’ve told you that part in case something horrific happens and we end up with six kids to take care of.”
“My mother would love that,” Dennis huffs. “Might even forgive me for being gay.”
“So it’s agreed.” He nips Dennis’ ear and teases, “We murder the Abbots and steal their adorable children so we don’t have to deal with adoption or surrogacy.”
Dennis grins, leans up, and gives him a warm kiss. “Deal.”
“Well, I guess our cover’s blown,” you sigh as yet another emergency room doctor – this time Mel King – comes to introduce themself to you and your kids, who are bouncing off the walls during their latest visit. You don’t mind, though. Each time, Jack instructs them to take the kids outside the room, giving you a few moments of peace and quiet among the beautiful chaos. Once you’re alone, Jack offers you another slice of banana on a plastic fork and you take it, pretending to frown at him. “I hate bananas.”
“You love bananas.”
“I stopped loving them three bananas ago.”
“Would you rather have more hospital scrambled eggs?” When you wrinkle your nose up at the mere idea, he says, “That’s what I thought.”
“I really am sorry for coming to the Pitt, Jackie,” you sigh. It’s the third time you’ve done this routine, but you still feel bad about it. “I passed out and they just took us all to the nearest ER. I guess Sam was telling them that you work here, too.”
Jack shakes his head and laughs. “You just gave birth to my fifth and sixth kids, honey. I never want to hear you apologize for anything. Say it one more time and I’m filing for divorce.”
“A little counter-intuitive, maybe, but point taken.”
Jack kisses your hand and holds it close to his chest. With a more serious expression, he assures you, “Because they brought you here instead of anywhere else, I was able to see the twins come into the world and make sure you were okay through it. I’d rather deal with my coworkers joking about my breeding kink than miss that.”
Your mouth falls open. “Did someone seriously make that joke while your wife was in surgery?”
“Langdon, yeah.” He puts on an impression and repeats, “‘Jesus, Abbot, baby number six? You ever think about these new contraptions called condoms or are you just that obsessed with-’”
You smack him on the arm and laugh, “I don’t even want to hear the end of that. And you’d better not tell any of our friends; Jenny has a planned C-section and I don’t want her thinking about the kinds of comments her doctors make.”
“He wouldn’t have said it if you had a waking surgery,” he replies with a stupid smirk. Then he leans forward and kisses your forehead. “You look so fucking beautiful.”
Rolling your eyes at him, you ask, “The hospital gown and greasy hair thing does it for you?”
He kisses over your cheeks and jaw until you’re grinning and giggling at him. “The ‘being the perfect mother of my perfect children’ thing does it for me.”
“Perfect children?” You catch his roving mouth and kiss him. “The first thing Mikey did when he saw me was hand me a dead bug from his pocket.”
“As a gift,” Jack repleis with mock offense. Then he scoots closer so he can rest his chin on the top of your head. “They’re perfect. All of them. Just like their mother.”
You blink back welling tears; Jack is too good to you sometimes and your hormones can't handle it. Instead, you run your fingers through his curls and say, “Y’know, your coworkers aren’t half bad, Jackie.”
“They’re alright,” he concedes while you both watch Mel and Santos running up and down the hall with your kids on their shoulders in various formations. “The kids are all gonna want to visit here now, aren’t they?”
“And you’re gonna happily give them a tour of their daddy’s work,” you say with a menacing giggle. “You’re gonna end up with a doctor for a kid.”
He groans and buries his face in your shoulder. “My worst fear.”
“At least you’ve been saving for the kids’ college funds since you started as a doctor,” you reply knowingly. “We can afford one, maybe two of them being a doctor.”
Before Jack can respond, your favorite pedes nurse pushes the door open with a big smile. Today she’s wearing yellow scrubs with ducks on the pockets, a duckbill claw clip holding up her hair. All the kids are standing politely behind her, well-behaved and quiet like they almost never are, with Robby bringing up the rear holding Amelia.
With a big smile, the nurse asks, “Mom and dad, are you ready for your new babies to meet their big siblings?”
You let out a happy squeal and Jack grins, too. This has always been one of your favorite parts of having a big family. “Beyond ready.”
While Robby hangs back with Amelia since she isn’t old enough to join yet, Jack helps you transfer into the wheelchair that’s become your best friend the past few days and pushes you toward the NICU visitation room. Jack may have pulled a couple of strings so they’d allow all three of the older kids into a private room at once instead of one at a time. Once they all have masks tied on and hands very thoroughly scrubbed, the nurse reminds them to stay quiet and calm as she rolls in the babies. “Introducing Claire Lily Abbot and Caleb Benjamin Abbot.”
Samantha beams as she looks at you and Jack. “You named her Claire? That was my idea!”
“We thought it was perfect,” you reply, heart swelling with love as Sam’s eyes go misty.
Max peers up onto the cots and whispers reverently, “They’re so tiny. Was I ever that tiny?”
“Only when you were in my tummy, baby,” you reply. “They came early, so they’re extra small, but they’ll keep getting bigger every day until they can come home.”
“Wow. They’re already working so hard.”
Jack plays with his hair and says, “That’s right, bud. Their whole job right now is getting big and strong like you.”
He shakes his head and glances up at his dad. “I’m not big and strong. You’re big and strong.”
“And you’re half me,” Jack points out. “Mommy’s pretty big and strong too, right?” He nods slowly, so Jack says, “The other half is her. If my math is right – and I’m really good at fractions – that makes you big and strong, too.”
Mikey tugs his other hand. “And me, daddy?”
“You too, super boy,” he replies. Then he looks up at Samantha, who’s still absolutely rapt, gazing down at the twins. “What do you think, Sammy? This is your fifth time meeting a baby sibling; how’s it compare to the others?”
“They’re way cooler than these two,” she says, poking each of her brothers. Then she smiles again, seemingly unable to stop from curling into them, and tells you, “Claire looks just like you, mom. She even has your eyes.”
“Everyone’s been saying that. Guess I finally beat your dad’s genes after he got four carbon copies,” you laugh softly as you watch them together, Sam’s eyes watery and tender. “I think Caleb looks a lot like you, sweetheart. He’s got your cute cheeks.”
“Yeah?” She beams down at her new brother, gently touching his tiny hand. When he instinctively curls his fingers around hers, she sniffles. “You’re awfully cute, little man.”
“Definitely one of our top six cutest kids,” Jack says as he rubs Sam’s back, Max still holding his other hand. “You’re such a good big sister. Thanks for watching out for the others while your mom went to the hospital. You’re so brave.”
She leans into his touch. “Thanks, dad.”
Unimpressed with the situation as a whole, Mikey screws up his face, looks back at you, and asks seriously, “When are Claiwe and Caleb gonna get fun?”
You stifle your laugh. “Is Amelia fun yet?”
He frowns. “Nope, still bowing.”
“Well, she’s gonna get fun first,” you tell him, exchanging amused glances with Jack. “Then they’ll get fun about a year after that.”
“That’s like fowever from now,” he whines.
Sam nudges him. “Shh, Mikey. We’re supposed to stay calm for the babies.”
“But they’re bowing,” he insists. “I’m bowed.”
You give a knowing nod to the nurse and she gets the message, kneeling down to his level and asking, “How would you like to race me in a wheelchair?”
That gets his attention, so he gives you a tight, quick hug and then runs behind her, already talking her ear off. Jack soothes his fingers through your hair and chuckles, “How did we get such an extrovert?”
“He takes after his uncle.”
“Yeah, because Robby’s such a ray of sunshine.”
“Fair point.”
After a few more minutes of gawking, Max and Sam are ready to head out, too, so they say goodbye and go home with Jack’s parents while you two hang back for skin-to-skin time in the private room. Jack’s committed to staying at the hospital with you until you’re discharged so he doesn’t miss out on any time with the babies and so you aren’t alone. With his parents and sister at home to take care of the kids, you couldn’t even pretend you didn’t want him to do just that.
As the NICU nurse checks the twins’ vitals one more time to make sure they’re up for handling, Jack guides your hospital gown lower and then tugs off his own shirt, standing in only his gray sweats.
You give Jack a low catcalling whistle. “Yeah, show off those abs, daddy.”
“Not in front of my coworkers, mommy,” he lilts back as the nurse laughs. He helps you maneuver into the loveseat so you can put your feet up and be more comfortable and then sits next to you.
“God forbid a girl admire her sexy doctor husband.”
The nurse interrupts with a gentle expression, “Alright, lovebirds, who wants who?”
Jack tells her, “It’s boys and girls today.”
She nods and then guides the babies onto each of your chests. They’re both sleepy after their afternoon feeding and burping, so they curl in right away. “I’ll leave you four alone for some quality time; press the button if you need me.”
As she heads out, you lean your head on Jack’s shoulder and tease, “You really do look hot holding a baby.”
“I think that’s probably how I ended up with six of them,” he chuckles. Pressing his nose to the top of Caleb’s head, he sighs wistfully, “I’ll never get tired of that newborn smell.”
“Me neither,” you whisper as you breathe in the soft, sweet scent. Sniffing back tears all of a sudden, you look down at Claire’s wispy hair and whimper, “I think she’s way smaller than a pineapple.”
Jack laughs as he rubs Caleb’s back, his big hand warming his little body. “What?”
Still crying gently because it’s impossible not to right now, you explain, “The app said they were the size of pineapples this week.”
Jack cracks a sweet smile and replies, “She’s just a small pineapple. One of those organic ones with no GMOs.” Then he kisses Caleb’s head and laughs, “This one’s full of GMOs, though, huh? Stealing all your sister’s food in there, chunky monkey.”
You give a joking glare. “He takes after his father.”
“It was one slice of pizza.”
“Off my plate,” you remind him with a scoff, “when I was forty-one weeks pregnant with your bowling ball baby.”
“Never gonna live that one down, am I?”
“Definitely not.”
“Good. You wouldn’t be my wife if you let go of a food-based grudge.” Caleb gives a soft coo and scrunches up his fists; in response, Jack pouts out his lower lip and says, “I’m getting cuteness aggression over here. They’re excruciatingly perfect.
“Yeah, they are. I just wanna smush them.” You rest your head on his shoulder, let the hormones wash through you, and say gently, “Thanks for all the babies, Jackie.”
He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t think it’s fair to take credit for five orgasms when you carried six human beings for, like, four years altogether. But you’re welcome anyway.”
“I wouldn’t have let you get me pregnant five times if you didn’t earn it,” you reply, leaning into him more closely. “Sam trusts you with school gossip, which is high praise from her. Max feels safe enough with you to be his soft, sweet self. Mikey thinks you’re a superhero and spends all his time trying to impress you. And Amelia…well, I’m still her favorite because of the boob distribution in our relationship, but that’s not your fault.”
He gives you a dopey smirk that you love. “That’s why you’re my favorite, too.”
Leaning over to chase him for a kiss, you murmur against his lips, “Pervert.”
Pairing: Jack Abbot x wife!reader Word Count: 1.9k
Description: After deciding to foster Baby Jane Doe, the Abbot household faces a sleepless afternoon. As Jack rocks her back to sleep, you both realize the word “foster” starts to feel less like a temporary label, and more like something you wish to erase completely.
Tags/warnings: wife!reader, tooth rotting fluff and Jack being the best foster dad ever <3
Note: I’ve been thinking about this for days!! Something about Jack rocking a baby to sleep just makes me go ✨ Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
The world is supposed to be fully awake at one in the afternoon. In the Abbot household, it’s the middle of the night.
But poor baby Jane Doe, who didn’t ask to be abducted by two night attendings, couldn't care less about that. She’d opened her beautiful eyes about an hour ago, crying her tiny lungs out until you’d managed to give her the bottle she so rightfully deserved.
You’re just glad it hadn’t woken Jack up. Two days with a baby in the house and now he sleeps like the dead. Which is impressive, really, considering the man spends most of his life getting startled by emergency calls or someone knocking on the call room door he’s taking a nap in.
Now when he sleeps, he sleeps.
Which he deserves, to be honest. Jack had only fallen asleep two hours ago after spending most of the morning negotiating with her to finally (let you) get some rest. He’d taken the first shift without complaint when he saw you dragging your feet after a particularly rough night at the hospital.
Go to sleep, honey. I got her.
And of course Jack did. Taking it the way he takes everything in life. Wars. Patients. SWAT duty. Robby. A nameless baby. You.
No biggie.
So when she woke up, you had slipped out of bed silently. Now, after feeding her in the kitchen and more desperate bargains, you are tiptoeing back into the bedroom with her asleep in your arms.
Sunlight tries and fails to get past the heavy blackout curtains that cover almost the whole front wall. The bed is already calling your name, it looks so soft and you can’t wait to lie next to your husband again. The bassinet is on Jack’s side, since he has more space over there, so you carefully reach it to place the sleeping babygirl on it.
You’re almost there. You can see salvation. You are already on cloud nine.
You’re also too busy imagining the warmth of Jack’s body next to yours, that you don’t notice when your foot catches on one of his crutches, sending it flying against the bassinet in a loud clatter that wakes everybody and the neighbor up.
Oh no. Oh no no no. You had almost cried in relief when her little body relaxed and she finally drifted off just a few minutes ago. You might cry for real now.
The baby beats you to it though. Her eyes open wide for a second before her face twists and she lets out the most piercing cry you’ve ever heard in your entire life.
“No, no, no, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” you panic, immediately bouncing her against your chest. “I’m sorry–shh, shh, it’s okay.”
You try to soothe her, walking away from the bed but it’s already too late.
“What happened?” Jack’s voice comes out low and raspy when he sits on the bed, rubbing his eyes violently before focusing on you. “Did you get hurt?”
“No!” you say quickly, heading toward the door even if your ankle does sting a little. “I’m fine, I just tripped. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You try to make a quick exit, but she cries harder, squirming in your hold with her little fists going into the air. You bounce her softly, patting her back reassuringly.
“I know, I know you were asleep baby, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, almost at the door.
“Wait,” Jack says before you can step out of the room, fully awake now as he reaches for something next to the bed.
“Jack, no–you don’t have to get up,” you say, swaying in your spot.
He ignores you as he sits on the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless, silver hair sticking up in messy waves, and already halfway through putting his prosthetic on.
“Jack,” you try again, a little louder over the baby’s crying. “Please go back to sleep. I got her.”
He stands up after putting the crutch back on its place, and you take a few steps back as if to keep a distance between you.
“You’re limping,” he points out. “Stop walking.”
“I said I’m fine,” you insist, now in the hallway. “I just tripped over the crutch. I already fed her, it took forever to get her to sleep again, but I swear I can–“
“Honey.”
It’s a simple word. It should not hold this much power over you. Yet it makes you stop right in your tracks as he gives you those impossible, worried hazel eyes.
“Give her to me,” he says–no, he commands. “Please.”
“No.” You try to be just as firm, but your voice is barely audible over the wails. “You were up with her earlier and you’ve barely slept. You need more hours.”
“So do you,” he shrugs, crossing his arms. “Go back to bed, honey.”
“Jack–“
“Bed.”
His voice leaves no room for argument.
Even when you want to tell him that you should be the one up. That you’re the one who convinced him you could do this, that you could open the door to this baby, to this fragile little life you already care too much for. But with the way the sweet girl is screaming in your ear, you’re too tired to keep pretending you have any real authority here.
You sigh, carefully transferring the crying baby into his arms. Jack settles her on his bare chest, keeping a hand behind her head and his arm beneath her body.
“I know. I know, sweetheart,” he coos, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Shhh, you’re okay, I got you.”
Jack begins to sway softly, his palm covers almost her whole back, keeping her little body tucked safely against the warm skin of his neck.
He prompts you to walk inside the bedroom again, and you don’t waste time protesting anymore. Before you know it your body is already sinking onto the absurdly expensive mattress you’re so grateful for right now, as Jack begins pacing the room with the fussy baby.
She’s got some great lungs, you’ll give her that.
“I know that was scary, kid,” he coos at her, “big noise in a dark room, mhm mean crutches…it’s alright, come here…”
You peek from your spot to catch her still kicking and letting out little sobs while Jack shifts her lower, his arm holding her whole weight as he puts her little ear to his chest.
“Listen to my heart, right there, you hear that?” he says, and you can hear the smile on his voice. “Thump, thump, thump…”
His index finger taps lightly on her round belly, matching the rhythm beneath his ribs.
“That’s mine, yeah,” he nods, as if she understands anything he’s saying. “Big, old, grumpy heart. It’s been through a lot, but I like to think it still works pretty good.”
That gets a little laugh out of you. Jack glances at you for a second, since you’re supposed to be asleep already, but he keeps talking to the baby.
“Yours does the same thing, but faster,” he explains, all serious, lifting one hand and gesturing with his fingers. “Because it’s tiny tiny like this. Brand new, working extra hard.”
There isn’t a single thought behind her eyes, but Jack’s voice seems to soothe her enough for her cries to break into small sobs as she listens intently to him.
“Little thump thump thump thump,” he taps her belly faster, catching her attention, and her angry fists finally lower, trying to reach for his hand. “There you go, sweetheart.”
He smiles down at her, moving his hand closer. She starts batting it, her little legs no longer kicking in distress but in awe at Jack’s attention as her crying slowly subsides. You watch endeared from your spot, because yes milk might be great, but there’s nothing Jack’s hold can’t fix.
She’s already so much like you.
“You just wanted a little cuddle, huh?” Jack whispers playfully, swaying her softly, watching her little eyes start to close. “You can sleep now, kid. You’re safe…you’re home.”
You see him lift his gaze toward you, but you close your eyes pretending to be asleep.
Jack just smiles, padding softly across the room toward the bassinet. But just as he’s about to place her down, she lets out a discomfort whine and tenses up in his hold.
“Okay, okay, I won’t let go,” he chuckles, holding her close to him again. “Someone really did a number on you, didn’t they?” he shakes his head, trying to keep his voice steady. “ But nobody's leaving you, kid. Nobody’s forgetting you anymore. Not here."
You bury your face on the pillow, trying to keep your own tears at bay.
“I know living with us might not be easy,” he continues, rubbing circles on her back. “Two exhausted doctors with blackout curtains in every room. Sounds questionable, yeah…but we’re not bad,” he says with a cheeky smile. “Your mom–your foster mom is better than me,” he glances at you, making sure you’re still asleep before continuing, “she’s softer, and prettier…and she’s my favorite person. She’ll be yours too in no time.”
Yup. That definitely got you.
“And for your foster dad…I learn fast, and I don’t scare easily. So if you’re planning on being difficult, you should know we’re still gonna be there for you,” he reassures. “And…maybe one day we’ll take the foster out of it…” he offers casually, like his heart–thump thump thump–is not telling him to just go sign the papers right now. “No pressure, of course…just saying, if you like it here,” he clears his throat, only to smile when he notices the girl has finally fallen asleep in his arms.
He kisses her forehead.
“It’s gonna take some time getting used to being a night crawler, but I think you already got this kid,” he adds in barely a whisper. “Hooah…”
That earns a snort from you, that turns into a sniffle after Jack poured his entire heart out thinking you were out. You suddenly feel his hand on your ankle, rubbing circles to the sore spot you hit the crutch with.
“Sleep, honey.”
“I’m sleeping,” you say, keeping your eyes closed.
“You were eavesdropping,” he says, but there’s no resentment in his voice. That makes you shift just enough to meet his eyes.
The sight of him holding a sleeping baby to his bare chest just makes you want to cry more.
“I didn’t mean to,” you say, wiping your cheeks but he just lifts an unimpressed eyebrow at you. “Okay, maybe I did. But it’s just…I think you’re really good at this.”
Jack only nods fondly, because if he speaks he’s gonna break too.
“I think we got this, we…we got her,” you add.
This time Jack rounds the bed, keeping a hand on the baby’s head so he can lean down and place a soft kiss on your lips. It’s salty, dry lips dancing together with a small bundle between your bodies. Your bundle.
Baby Jane Abbot.
“We got her,” he agrees, lingering for a moment before straightening up to pace around the room again. He’s clearly not letting her go. “Now go to sleep, honey. I don’t want to have to tell you again,” he says in that maddenly authoritative tone.
You bite back a smile, sinking deeper into the covers and reaching for his pillow to cuddle it until he goes back to bed.
“...Jack?”
“Mm?”
“You should charge people for that voice,” you whisper, earning a chuckle from him.
“I think the lack of sleep is getting to you,” he says, lowering his voice when the baby shifts. “Close your eyes. Now.”
With a satisfied smile on your face, you close your eyes only for a few seconds before opening one to peek at him.
“...Can you say that again?”
Part Two
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 feedback is always appreciated!!
Pairing: Jack Abbot x wife!reader Word Count: 2.5k
Description: Years after adopting baby Jane Doe, you get a call from Robby telling you about another abandoned child at PTMC. The news brings the past painfully close, and your daughter starts questioning you about her own story.
Part 2 of Baby Jane Abbot, but can be read as a standalone.
Tags/Warnings: wife!reader, older Jane Doe, angst if you squint but mostly fluff and once again Jack being the softest dad ever.
Note: Based on this ask 🤍 Enjoy 🫶🏼
Masterlist
Poppy Abbot, formerly known as baby Jane Doe, grew up to be a sweet, bright and kind seven year old.
She knew she was adopted. You and Jack were very clear about it once you felt she was old enough to understand what it meant. Poppy took it very maturely, and surprisingly didn’t want to pry more about her biological parents, saying she felt her life was already complete with the two of you.
Which of course, got a few sniffles from Jack who’d claimed it was just seasonal allergies.
Sure, honey.
But watching him become a father as the grey in his hair turned to white over the years, was a privilege you never took for granted. He’d stepped into the role terrified to never be enough, only to show you everyday he was made to be a girl dad.
From learning how to nail hairstyles and intricate braids with those skilled hands, to teaching her how valuable she was as a human being and how to never ever let anyone walk over her, Jack had taught you many things in the process too.
“Never be so kind, you forget to be clever, P.”
“Never be so clever, you forget to be polite, kiddo.”
Were some of the things you’d hear him say when you’d walk past her room before bedtime.
For how much of an easy kid she was growing up, she was also endlessly curious. Being the child of two doctors–even if not related by blood–she’d taken after your need to always know more. You’d find her eyeing the books from your home library; thick tomes on her lap “just for the pictures, mom,” she’d say.
She’d memorize the pictures.
The intricate names she would ask about during dinner on weekends. Jack, ever the teacher, was always happy to explain it in a way she’d understand. But he’d also always reassure her she’d never have to follow that path if she didn’t want to.
To think that this had become your life after someone decided to abandon a perfectly healthy baby in a bathroom all those years ago. You resented the person who did it for a long time, but as the years passed you felt actually grateful that it had led Poppy into your arms. It wasn’t easy to learn how to take care of her, but once you figured it out, your life had never been more fulfilled.
But old wounds are better left untouched.
Which is why, nine years later, when you get a call from Robby saying someone abandoned a baby at the ER entrance, your whole body tenses up next to Jack.
“Honey?” He asks when he notices, stepping away from the lunch bag he’d been prepping for you before leaving to start your shifts at the hospital. “What happened?”
You don’t answer, you only stare ahead at no point in particular. You can hear Robby going ‘Hello?’ on the other side of the line, but all you can do is focus on the fridge in front of you, where dozens of pictures of your little family of three are held by magnets.
“Robby, talk to me,” Jack says once he got the phone from you and put it on speaker.
Robby exhales before speaking. “Somebody left a baby at the ER entrance.”
Jack turns to you immediately, but you’re still lost inside your head.
“Is uh–is the baby okay? How old?” He asks.
“She has a high fever, and hasn’t stopped crying since Princess found her. We’re running checks on her. We think she might be…around five months old…Whitaker is with her right now,” he explains, his voice goes a little distant which makes you think he might be peeking into Pedes to get a look on her. “I’m calling you because there was a leak in my neighborhood, and I need to go check on my house. I won’t be here for the shift handover, can you take care of baby Jane Doe for me, please?”
Baby Jane Doe. Baby Jane Doe.
The name echoes and echoes inside your head. You called your daughter that for months, unsure if you should name her before handling all the paperwork and she was legally yours. It was mostly fear, that she’d be taken away from you when you were already too attached, and giving her a name would only make it worse.
It was the day you’d finally gotten her custody, that Dana had sent you the most beautiful arrangement of flowers you’d ever seen.
Poppies.
Dozens of fresh, vibrant, gorgeous poppies. It only felt right to give your girl such a sweet name.
But now there’s another nameless girl at PTMC. Scared. Sick. History repeating itself. Why?
You don’t listen to the rest of their call, you only notice it ends when Jack sets your phone next to the lunchbag and guides you carefully to sit down on the nearest couch. He sits next to you, placing his big hand over yours.
“Honey, I need to know what’s going on in your head,” he says gently, rubbing soothing circles on your skin.
You take a moment to gather your thoughts, because why on earth is this affecting you so much? Your girl is safe in her room, probably reading the comics Jack bought her last week, waiting for her nanny Annie to arrive before you leave for work.
But what if she wasn’t? What if you’d never told Jack to take her home? What if she was lonely and scared in a foster home? Is that going to happen to the baby at PTMC? Can you help her? Jack is getting old and you’re not far behind, another baby wouldn’t be responsible–
“Hey,” Jack cuts your train of thoughts. It crashes against those worried hazel eyes of his. “She’s not Poppy,” he says, already knowing where your head is going.
“But that’s the thing, Jack. Who’s going to help her?” You finally speak, barely keeping your voice from breaking. “What if she stays Jane Doe for the rest of her life?”
Jack only nods in understanding, shifting closer so your knees are together and his hand can run up and down your spine.
“We don’t know anything about her yet. Maybe the person who left her there will come back, you never know,” he reassures. “Best thing we can do for her is make sure she gets the best care possible.”
“But–“
“I know this is personal, I know it better than anyone, my love,” he says, smiling sadly. “But we gotta do it for the kiddo. We would’ve wanted someone to be there for our daughter too, wouldn’t we?”
You stare at him in silence for a few seconds, before nudging him with your shoulder weakly.
“I hate it when you make sense.”
Jack snorts and shakes his head, standing up from the couch with a groan. He extends his hand to you, but something catches the corner of his eye first.
“P?” He calls out, narrowing his eyes at the floral shorts barely peeking out from the hallway. “What are you doing there, kid?”
The girl in question steps out of her hiding spot. For how clever she usually is, she’s actually a terrible liar. So she just stands with her hands behind her back with guilt written all over her face. It would usually make you bite back a smile while Jack reminds her it’s not polite to eavesdrop, but the topic of the conversation raises a red flag in your mind.
How much of that did she hear?
“Did something happen at the hospital?” Poppy asks, pretending to be casual about it. Once again, it’s not her strongest skill to be smooth about it.
“Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart,” you say immediately. “Annie is almost here, dad and I are heading out soon.”
She nods, her face does the cute thing where she pouts and her eyes go up and around when she’s not satisfied with the answer.
“But I heard there was something about a baby,” she confesses, making Jack lift an eyebrow in disapproval. “I was just coming for a snack, dad, and then…I heard Uncle Robby’s voice.”
So she heard all of it. Great. She knows she’s adopted, yes, but you never told her someone had abandoned her in some bathroom.
Before you can panic, Jack sighs, putting his hands on his hips.
“Uncle Robby wants us to check on a baby that was left at the ED,” he explains. “Sometimes things like this can happen, kid. But like mom said it’s nothing you need to worry about, we got it.”
Dad Abbot. Always reassuring. Always letting her know she never needs to worry about our adult problems.
But she worries, you can see it in her face. How she scrunches her eyebrows. You know she’s fiddling with her fingers behind her back even if you can’t see her hands. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the thing she asks next.
“Is that how it happened with me?”
You hope the years you’ve spent working at the ED give you the grace of having a poker face, even if your heart is about to pound its way out of your chest. Jack seems to be holding up very well on his own.
“What–“ Nevermind. He just cleared his throat when his voice came out too high. “What makes you think that, sweetheart?” He asks, now in his normal raspy tone.
But you know he’s fighting for his life as much as you’re right now.
Poppy contemplates for a second before answering, but by the way she keeps shifting on her feet too anxiously, and her hands keep fiddling behind her back, you realize she’s hiding something.
“Honey, what do you have there?” You ask.
It doesn’t take long for Poppy to break. She brings one hand to the front, where she’s holding a pink hospital bracelet. Her hospital bracelet.
You both frown at it when you recognize what it is. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen it.
“Where did you find that?” You ask, but she doesn’t say anything. “Poppy…” you say in a more stern tone.
“Mom is asking you something, P,” Jack adds.
The girl sighs, dropping her hand to drag her feet all the way past Jack and toward the couch you’re sitting on. She plops down defeated, and cups the little bracelet with both hands. Jack walks closer, and sits down next to her, so that she’s in the middle of you two.
Baby Jane Doe. 4th of July, 2026. The pink band reads.
“Remember you asked me to help you find dad’s passport last month?” She starts, and you nod. “I–this was in the drawer I was looking through. I saw the date and I was curious about it because it’s the year I was born in, so I always kept it in my pocket. I didn’t know what it meant, Baby Jane Doe…until I heard uncle Robby say it.”
Jack looks between you and her, but you keep your eyes locked on your daughter.
“You never told me how I was found, but I’m a big girl now. I can take it,” she says, moving further back on the couch so she can look at both of you. She got the intense eye contact thing from Jack. “Did someone just…leave me there too?”
This time you do look at Jack, because he’s always been your rock in situations like this. He gives you a reassuring look, before turning his undivided attention to her. He takes her small hand in his calloused, wrinkled one, covering the hospital bracelet she’s holding.
“We told you the part that mattered when you were little. That you were adopted and that we chose you,” he starts, talking very softly to her. “You were found alone at the hospital that day, yes, but that only led you to find us, P.”
Poppy’s lower lip wobbles, so she takes her eyes away from her dad to look at you for comfort. You give her a soft smile, putting your hand over Jack’s so now you’re both holding her.
“Dana was the one fighting to get you a safe home that day. She told me you just needed a place until social services came for you,” you explain, recalling how crazy it’d been to arrive at the chaos of that day and finding out there was an abandoned baby on top of it all. “I went to see you and…I just knew we had to be the ones to bring you home.”
Jack nods, remembering how nervous you’d been that day to tell him you wanted to foster a random baby.
“Were you scared?” She asks.
“I was terrified,” you chuckle. “I didn’t know how it was gonna work with us being on the night shift. We decided it was better if I stayed home with you for a while.”
“You stopped going to the hospital?” She asks surprised.
“Just until you were old enough to have a nanny. We only ever wanted you to feel safe. To know you always had us there for you,” you explain. “And your dad he…he was the best person I could start that journey with.”
Jack smiles, leaning over Poppy so he can place a kiss on your forehead, then to hers.
“You were found, P, and after that you were never alone again. That’s what matters,” he says, caressing the back of her hair. “And you will never be if we can help it.”
Poppy sniffles, pushing away from Jack’s embrace just enough to wipe the tears that had spilled from her eyes.
“I never thanked you,” she says, but you’re quick to shake your head.
“Poppy Abbot, you never have to thank us for loving you,” you say firmly. “We should be the ones thanking you for letting us be your parents. Even if our lives are…a little bit different.”
“Yeah, kid. I know our schedules are not easy,” Jack adds with a tired chuckle. “Our clock is upside down, but we try our best to let you have a normal life. I hope it feels that way for you.”
That’s when Poppy realizes you’ve both spent her entire childhood trying to be worthy of her, when all along she’d been growing up thinking she had the coolest parents in the world.
“But I never wanted normal, we’re the weirdest and the wildest of them all!” she says Jack’s motto, getting a shaky laugh from both of you. “And I love it. I love you. I really love our family,” she confesses, extending her arms like when she was five years old and needed a cuddle with her favorite people.
Jack waits until you get your arms around her to wrap his arms around you, holding both of his girls like nothing else matters in the world. Poppy lets out a precious laugh when Jack tickles her, and your cuteness aggression tells you to squish her with all your strength so she stops growing up so fast.
You miss when she was just a tiny bundle, drooling on Jack’s bare chest and you didn’t have to share her with the world. But she will always be yours. She’s no longer baby Jane Doe and she’ll never be again.
Not while she has you and Jack.
And you’ll do everything in your power to make sure the Jane Doe at the hospital right now gets her forever home too, just like Dana did all those years ago.
Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated 🤍 I don’t know if there’ll be more to this but she has a name now!! I’m loving Dad!Jack and his family of three 🫶🏼
Dividers by @anitalenia
Tag: @syraxnyra
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